


Stains of the Soul

by HakeberHooligan



Series: Murder Husbands, a Romance [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, inner turmoil, minor mentions of rape, post-season 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17605973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HakeberHooligan/pseuds/HakeberHooligan
Summary: Derek is awoken in the middle of the night by someone pounding on his door. He opens it to find Stiles, smeared with blood and convinced that he's done something terrible. It's been a month since they trapped the Nogitsune, but it left something dark inside of Stiles. A stain on his soul. Derek and Stiles work together to figure out how to cope with visions of death and torture that plague him in his sleep. As always, there's more at play than meets the eye.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few quick notes: The story is mostly canon compliant up until the very end of season 3B. Kate never came back, Erica and Boyd are alive, Scott is not an Alpha, Derek is still an Alpha, Kira and Cora aren't around, Malia just kind of didn't happen, and the pack is much more functional AS a pack. Lastly, I bumped the storyline up by one year, so the Nogitsune situation happens during senior year, and Stiles is 17. I think that's it! Enjoy!

__

 

_Hello darkness, my old friend_

_I've come to talk with you again_

_Because a vision softly creeping_

_Left its seeds while I was sleeping_

_And the vision that was planted in my brain_

_Still remains_

_Within the sound of silence_

 

_-The Sound of Silence,_ Simon & Garfunkel

 

 

     Derek is jolted from sleep by someone pounding against his door. He stifles a groan against his pillow and blindly moves his hand around on the bed until he finds his phone. When he clicks the side button to light up the screen, it’s harsh to his eyes and it makes him squint. _2:13am._ He is going to _eviscerate_ whoever it is, hands down. He gets up and pulls on a tank top and sweatpants. They keep pounding the door.

     “I’M COMING!” It comes out more as a roar than a human yell. The banging on the door stops, but the heart behind it continues at a rabbit’s pace. He pulls the door open with more force than necessary, and is about to verbally destroy whoever it is, when he catches sight of Stiles, smeared with blood, with a terrified, wild look in his eyes. His words are lost in his throat.

     “ _Derek._ ” It’s practically a sob. He’s holding his hands in front of him, and tears are flowing from his eyes. He looks so fucking _terrified._ Even though he’s not a werewolf, Derek’s inner Alpha still recognizes him as pack, and it’s overwhelmed with the need to comfort, help, console him. No matter what he’s done.

     Derek reaches out and gently pulls him into the loft by the arm of his hoodie. “Come on. Come in. Tell me what happened.” He closes the door behind him and ushers him over to one of the stools at the kitchen island, and pulls out one for himself to perch on. He casually places a hand on Stiles’ neck, but there’s no pain to draw. That’s good. He was about to remove his hand, but Stiles had visibly relaxed into Derek’s touch, so he left it.

     He sniffs and wipes the back of his hand across his cheeks, wiping away his tears. “I... I don’t know. I think I was sleepwalking. I went to bed, and then I’m waking up a few blocks from here, covered in-” He looks down at his hands, and his heart starts beating overtime. “I think I killed someone, Derek. What if it’s the Nogitsune? What if it’s not gone?!”

     “Hey, hey, hey. Settle. You and I both know that it’s gone. That door is closed. Deaton said as much.” These kids treat Deaton with such reverence, it makes Derek’s eyes roll. But right now, he needs to calm Stiles down. He thinks he’s getting close to a panic attack, and Derek doesn’t know enough about them to help him through one. So he has no qualms in playing the ‘Deaton Said, And So It Shall Be’ card.

     He takes a sniff and focuses on cataloging what he smells. There’s Stiles scent, which used to be pure and fresh and virtuous. Since the Nogitsune, it’s been tinged with an underlying scent of primal desire, much like his desires when the wolf is in control. Kill, dominate, hurt, hunt, fuck.  Derek thinks that being possessed and being forced to do the things he had, changed him on such a spiritual level that this was his new, permanent scent. His mother had called it a scent aura. He keeps it close to his chest that born wolves can scent personality as much as a bitten wolf can scent emotions. It’s not something he freely advertises.

     He pulls himself out of his thoughts and mentally sifts through the scents that are on Stiles, but _not_ Stiles. Trash, grease, and... feline? Yes. Feline. “I, um. I don’t think you killed anyone. Not human, at least. The blood? It smells like cat.”

     Stiles is thrown by that. “A cat? I killed a cat? Oh man, I killed someone’s pet? What the fuck, man. This is so fucked up.” He drops his face into his hands, forgetting the blood, and starts crying again. His shoulders are shaking and the waves of pure despair rolling off of him are practically palpable.

     Derek’s never been good with words. Especially when it comes to words that deal with emotions. He doesn’t know what he can say to make this better. As for his other half, wolves crave closeness and touch. That’s what reassures them. Since his wolf recognizes Stiles as pack, he feels the urge to give him that closeness, that comfort that all wolves need. He stands up and wraps Stiles in a hug. Initially, Stiles stiffens, but then he wraps his arms around Derek’s waist and buries his face in his stomach, crying freely. Derek cards his fingers through Stiles’ hair, ignoring any awkwardness for later reflection.

     After a minute, Stiles calms. His breathing steadies, and his heart slows. His fingers slowly lose their grip on the back of his tank top. Stiles must come back to himself, because he quickly pulls away with a grimace. “I got cat blood all over you,” is all he says.

     Derek shrugs. “It’s no big deal.” He sits back down and looks into Stiles’ eyes, searching. “Are you better now? Can you tell me what else you remember?” Derek doesn’t want to push him, but if Stiles is wandering around and killing things with no memory of the act, it doesn’t bode well.

     “Um, yeah. I went to bed like I said, and next thing I know, I’m standing in an ally, covered in blood. Fully clothed, too, so I was lucid enough to remember to get dressed, I guess? I was only a few blocks away from here when I woke up, so I ran straight over. I don’t think I drove, because it’s about two miles to the loft from my house, and my feet feel like I’ve been on them. I, uh...” he gets quiet and starts wringing his hands together. Derek places a hand on his shoulder to ground him. It seems to work. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and takes a deep breath.

     “I have these _dreams,_ Derek.”

     He looks up at Derek, and there’s a haunted look in his eyes. Whatever these dreams are, Derek can tell that they’re messing with him, bad.

     “Dreams are just dreams, Stiles. I still sometimes have nightmares... of the fire.” His heart constricts at having to admit that out loud, but he’ll do anything he can to help Stiles through whatever this is. Stiles doesn’t look reassured, though.

     “I... they’re not exactly nightmares. At least, not while I’m dreaming them. The Nogitsune... before it left, it said that it’d leave its mark. It didn’t expect me to live, but it had a back up in place, to torment me if we somehow succeeded in trapping it. It’s not- I don’t necessarily _feel_ it in my head speaking to m like it was before. It’s more of a lingering essence. A _stain._ ” He says the word like it’s a dirty thing. His voice gets lower, almost a whisper. His eyes betray the dread he feels. “I think it’s a stain on my soul, Derek. One that I’ll never be free of.” He says hoarsely. Derek takes his hand off of Stiles’ shoulder and steps away. A look of hurt crosses Stiles’ face.

     “I’m just getting you a bottle of water.” Derek assures him. He turns to the fridge and only then allows his features to fall. He gnaws his bottom lip. What Stiles is saying, it’s what he’s smelt on him for a while, now. _A stain,_ he had said. He grabs a bottle out of the fridge and twists the cap off, handing it to Stiles. He drinks half of it in one go and thanks Derek.

     “You need to get cleaned up. You can do that here, or I can take you home?” Derek doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but he really doesn’t want to leave Stiles alone, and resolves to spend the rest of the night outside his window if he chooses to go home.

     “ _Can_ I stay?” Stiles asks a little too quickly, and then visibly winces at himself. “My dad’s on the night shift, he won’t be back home until mid morning. He doesn’t know I’m gone.”

     “It’s fine.” Derek promises. “You can take a shower, and borrow some of my clothes. I’ll throw yours in the wash.”

     He leads Stiles up the spiral staircase to the master bathroom. There’s a bathroom downstairs, but this is the only shower in the loft. He gives Stiles the privacy to get undressed and in the shower, and then he pokes his head in to leave fresh towels and a change of clothes. He takes Stiles clothes and goes downstairs to put them in the wash. Then he heads back upstairs, and waits on the bed.

     He’s troubled by what’s happened tonight. The Nogitsune is definitely gone, they trapped it in the triskelion box carved from the wood of the Nemeton, the one that used to hold his mother’s claws. But could it have really left some sort of residual effect on Stiles? Or worse, left a stain on his soul?  What if it was damage that was beyond repair? Derek thinks back to that sharp scent of primal desire that has burrowed itself into Stiles’ scent aroma. It smells like a permanent part of him.

     It’s been a little over a month since they trapped it. Stiles is worse for wear, but he had been smiling again, laughing and including himself in pack business. Derek noticed that sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, his smile would falter and he’d get that look that you’d see on the faces of war survivors. A far away look of someone who’s seen to much, and experienced terrible things. But Derek thought he was getting better. Stiles was pack, and he’s mentally kicking himself for not noticing that something was wrong sooner.

     The shower turns off, and he can hear Stiles drying off and getting dressed. When he comes out, he looks much better.

     “Thanks, for this.” He says, awkwardly standing at the doorway, holding the elbow of one arm with his other. He chews the side of his bottom lip.

     “I know you’re tired, but do you think you can tell me about these dreams? It sounds like they’re the root of the problem. Or, if you don’t want to talk to me, you can talk to Deaton, or Scott, or your dad. But I think it would really help if you talk to _someone._ ” Derek doesn’t want to push him.

     “Um, yeah, I guess. If you want to hear? I haven’t told anyone, you’re the only one that knows... I’d kind of like to keep it that way. I don’t want to end up back in Eichen House.”

     Derek’s eyes actually flash red at that. Stiles eyes widen. “You’re not going back there. _Ever._ ” Derek growls, a little too possessively. Then he blinks a few times, embarrassed with his outburst, and his eyes fade. “Just, talk to me. I’ll listen and I won’t judge.” He scoots over on the bed.

     Stiles slowly climbs on, crosses his legs, and sits down. “It’s like I said earlier. They aren’t exactly nightmares. I actually feel good in them? It’s after, when I wake up, that they scare me. I’m doing awful things in them. I remember things that I did, like twisting the sword in Scott’s belly, and then there’s also things that I’ve never done before. Like that lady at the gas station down the road? The one that’s always really pleasant? I had a dream where I strapped her down to a table and flayed her. That’s not even the worst part, though. In these dreams... I’m _enjoying_ it. I don’t feel scared, or sick, or disgusted. I’m covered in blood, I’m laughing, and I feel happy, hungry for more. They feel so _real,_ and sometimes I worry that they are. I usually wake up and run to the bathroom to vomit. But it’s not just the imagery that gets to me. It’s the emotions I’m feeling.” He’s looking down at his crossed legs, picking at a loose string on the sweats Derek let him borrow.

     “Sometimes, I hear its voice. Telling me what to do next, asking me how much I’m enjoying myself. I don’t see it though. I guess that’s how I know that it isn’t really there? That it’s just a lasting effect of the possession? Anyways, I thought that I could work through it. It told me that it would leave its mark, but I thought that if I ignored it, didn’t let it dictate my life, it would get better. And then this happens. Derek, what if I hurt someone next time? A person? A _child?_  One of you?” He’s gnawing on his nail, now.

     “I won’t let it come to that.” Derek promises. He resists the urge to place his hand on Stiles’ knee.

     Stiles chews on the inside of his cheek. Can this kid ever sit still? “It’s just that… I don’t feel _whole_ anymore. I feel like there’s a small part that’s missing. I feel like deep down, I miss _it._ Like I’ll never feel whole again now that it’s gone. But I don’t want to be that person again, Derek. I’m so- I’m so damn _confused._ ” He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes in a frustrated manner. “I can’t become that again. I won’t.”

     “You won’t. You have the support of the whole pack behind you, Stiles. We’ll figure this out.” Stiles nods and yawns. “Come on, I'll set up the couch for you.”

     “What if I leave? What if I sleepwalk again?” His eyebrows are knitted together in worry.

     “I’ll be able to hear you,” Derek assures him. “Even if I’m sleeping. The door is too loud, and we’re ten stories high. Don’t worry.”

     He sets up the couch, and then returns to his bed. He lays there, but doesn’t sleep. He listens to Stiles toss and turn, and at one point he hears Stiles softly crying. Sometime around 5am, his breathing evens out, and his heart slows to a steady rhythm. Derek still doesn’t sleep.

\- - -

     He finally gets up around 8am to make coffee. Stiles is still passed out on the couch, starfished. He has a leg thrown over the back of the couch, one arm is draped over the front, resting on the floor, and his other arm is slung over his eyes. He certainly gives off the impression that he’s sleeping well. Derek snorts quietly to himself and walks over to the kitchen. He adds extra coffee to his machine (he always sets it up the night before), and turns it to brew. He goes to his door, opening it to get the paper. He notices a bloody hand print on the door. He wonders what the paper guy thought of that.

     The aroma of the coffee brewing seem to rouse Stiles from his sleep. He turns to roll over, and falls to the floor with a loud thud. Derek can’t keep his snort quiet this time. Stiles leaps to his feet with a “whozer?”, and promptly topples to the floor a second time when he gets tangled in the blanket. He finally manages to right himself, and looks around until his eyes fall on Derek. “You tell _no one._ ” He says with a jab of his finger. It’s hard to take him seriously with the ridiculous cow lick he has, but Derek puts on a serious face and nods.

     Stiles walks over to the kitchen island and rubs a hand over his face. “What time is it?” He says through a yawn.

     “Just after eight.” Derek replies, taking a long draw of coffee. He pauses for a second. “... How did you sleep?”

     Stiles frowns. “Surprisingly good, actually. It was dreamless. I haven’t slept that good since before we awakened the Nemeton.”

     Derek isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Good,” he answers, and leaves it at that. Stiles goes to make his cup of coffee.

     "Where's your creamer?" He asks, rooting around the fridge.

     "Don't have any." Derek replies, eyes still on the paper.

     "Okay, I guess I can use milk," Stiles says to himself. Derek hears him moving things around in the cupboard next. "Where's the sugar?'

     "Don't have any." Derek repeats, this time with a hint of amusement.

     "Dude. Do you drink your coffee black? Gross."

     "I _don't_ drink it black," Derek turns on the stool to face Stiles. He almost looks offended. "I add cinnamon to it. Besides, if you drink  _proper_ coffee, and have a  _proper_ brewer, you don't need of that cream or sugar crap."

     Stiles just snorts. "Coffee Snob."

     Derek shrugs, lifts his cup in mock cheers, and turns back to the paper.

     After Stiles fixes his coffee, he sits at the island with Derek. He takes his first sip. His eyebrows shoot up, and he makes a pleased  _Hmm_ sound.  _That's what I thought,_ Derek thinks to himself smugly.

      After a minute of silence, Stiles says,“They found another one, huh?”, and motions his mug to the paper. He's looking at the front page, and probably trying to dispel some of the awkwardness. Derek looks down to read the headline.

     “Looks like it.” He grimaces. It’s the fourth woman in as many weeks that’s been found on the outskirts of town. Raped, strangled, and left dead and naked. It pulls at Derek’s heart, but he can tell it’s not supernatural. He dreamt of being a vigilante as a kid, a thought that more than appealed to his wolf, but with age came clarity. This was a job for the police.

     “Poor Joanne. She always gave me extra curly fries. Dad’s gonna catch the fucker who’s doing this. You know, she wore the same perfume my mother did.”

     He says it lightly, with a smile on his face. Derek can remember Joanne’s perfume. Roses and honey. It was a pleasant smell, even to his sensitive wolf nose.

     Stiles smile falters and Derek can smell dread and repulsion clouding his scent. “What if _I_ did it and I don’t remember?” He looks close to panicking.

     “Stiles, that’s ridiculous.” Derek says, working quickly to steer him away from darker thoughts. “The guy’s dna and fingerprints are all over those crime scenes. And you’re in the system. Oh, don’t pretend like your dad hasn’t weaseled your information into there.” He gives Stiles a no-nonsense look. Stiles relaxes a little, and his scent starts to clear.

     “Yeah… yeah, I guess you’re right. Not even the Nogitsune was _that_ bad. It never had thoughts of rape. It surprisingly found the idea repugnant.” He mostly talking to himself.

     When they’re done with their coffee, Derek offers to drive Stiles home. Once they pull up in front of his house, Stiles turns to Derek.

     “Listen... Thanks, for helping me last night.”

     “It’s really no problem. You’re pack, Stiles. Don’t forget that.” He clasps his hand over Stiles’ nape and gives him a gentle squeeze. It’s blatant scent-marking, and he’s sure that Stiles knows exactly what he’s doing, but sometimes it’s easier to appease the wolf than it is to sidestep an awkward moment or two. He lets go after a second. “Talk to me, if you need to. I won’t tell anyone about what happened last night, or what you told me. _But,_ only if I know that you’ll talk to me if you feel like you’re losing a grip again.”

     “Okay, I will.” He sounds sincere. “Thanks, again.” With that, he gets out of the car and walks to his front door.


	2. Chapter 2

     Derek doesn’t hear much from Stiles that next week. School’s in session, and for once there’s no supernatural crisis, so it’s not really all that surprising. They’ve never hung out outside of pack meets or when there’s a life-threatening situation. So not seeing Stiles for a whole week isn’t anything new. Derek prefers to have pack meetings at least twice a month though, and there’s one planned for this Friday. Erica, Boyd, Issac, and Lydia are already there by the time Stiles and Scott arrives, so he doesn’t get a chance to talk to him alone. He notices the dark bags under his eyes though. Stiles gives him a small smile when he walks by him, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

     Peter is the only one absent. Derek isn’t surprised. He comes and goes as he pleases. It’s starting to get on Derek’s nerves, while at the same time, he really doesn’t want to have to deal with him.

     The meeting lasts less an hour, and it’s mostly small talk. Derek wants to get them back into training, and Erica complains loudly about it. Derek knows it’s an act though, because she loves whooping the boys asses. She’s a natural fighter. The pizza that Derek had pre-ordered arrives, much to the excitement of the teens who weren’t aware he’d done so. They scarf the five pies down in record time, and by then it’s time for everyone to head home. Stiles hangs back, cleaning the mess and dawdling. Before long, him and Scott are the last ones left. Derek’s in the kitchen when he overhears Scott asks if Stiles is coming, and Stiles makes an excuse about Derek having some books that he wanted to look over. Scott doesn’t sound suspicious in the least, and leaves. Derek stays in the kitchen, slowly cleaning plates and glasses, letting Stiles come to him.

     Stiles wanders in almost shyly, and starts drying the dishes. He smells of apprehension, and his scent aura is clouded with that primal tinge. They stand silently for almost a minute before stiles starts talking.

     “They’re back. The dreams, I mean.” He’s not looking at Derek. His attention is on the glass he’s drying, as if it requires his complete visual attention.

     “Is that normal?” Derek asks, going for a casual tone.

     “Actually, I’ve been having them every night since it separated from me. The night after I came here, they stopped for three whole days. I thought maybe I had gotten over it? But they came back full force the last two nights.” He’s stopped drying the glass in He’s holding, and Derek realizes that his hands are shaking. “I’ve been... I set up a boobytrap next to my bed, in case I started sleepwalking again. A piece of fishing line, waist high, that would drop push pins onto the floor if it was triggered. I figured that the pain of stepping on some tacks would snap me out of it? Anyways, I woke up this morning, sitting on my couch. I had a kitchen knife in my hand. I walked upstairs, and the trap hadn’t been triggered... it had been disabled. which means that while I’m in this other state, I’m _aware._ I had enough sense to disable it. It felt like a warning somehow.  I’m... I’m fucking terrified, Derek.”

     He finally turns to look Derek in the eye, and he looks close to tears. He looks so broken, so completely lost. Derek isn’t fully in control of his movements as he wraps Stiles in his arms. The wolf is pushing through to comfort, protect, assure its packmate. His hands are covered in soapy water, but Stiles doesn’t seem to mind. He hugs Derek back, really hard, and Derek feels his heart break a little. “What can I do to help, Stiles? Tell me what you need and I’ll try as best I can.”

     Stiles steps back and nibbles the bottom of his lip. At the same time, he looks down at his hands and flicks his thumbnails against each other. “I need... I can’t sleep at home. I’m worried that I’ll hurt my dad, or if he’s not home, I’ll go out and hurt someone else.” He leaves it at that. Derek knows what he’s angling towards, but Stiles rarely asks for help, and he can’t quite seem to bring himself to ask. Derek takes charge.

     “You can stay here until we figure something out. Tell your dad whatever you need to, that you’re staying with Scott, or it’s pack business.” He places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles looks up. “I think we’ll have to talk to Deaton tomorrow, though. I’m not exactly sure what to do here.” His wolf feels like he’s failing a pack member in not having the answers he needs. But his human side reasons that that’s what emissaries are for, right?

     Some of the tension sleeps out of Stiles’ body. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s time to talk to him. I should have weeks ago. I’m just afraid... of what he might say. Of what this means.”

     “You’ve been through some pretty serious shit, Stiles. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was something as simple and human as PTSD.” Derek pats Stiles on the back and let’s go of him. “Why don’t you go home and grab whatever you need for tonight. Pick out a movie too.”

     “Really? Any movie?” Stiles perks up immediately, just as Derek intended.

     After watching Deadpool (which Derek actually really enjoyed), he heads upstairs while Stiles stays on the couch. He assures Stiles that there’s no way he can be quiet enough to open the front door without him hearing it. And if he tries to take off, Derek can easily catch him before he makes it to the elevator. He even talks him into taking a melatonin (“Seriously, you look like shit. You need some sleep.”). He settles into bed around 10pm and doesn’t allow himself to drift until he’s sure that Stiles is asleep.

\- - -

     Derek snaps his eyes open when a sharp pain pierces his left side. He gasps in pain and his hands scrabble at the source. There’s a _knife handle_ sticking out of him. It’s shoved in underneath his ribs. He grasps the handle and pulls it out with a pained noise.

     “Look at that. It’s already starting to heal.”

     The voice startled him. He looks up for the first time and sees Stiles hovering nearby, a thoughtful look on his face.

     “What the fuck, Stiles?” He grits out, placing his hand over the wound. It’s nearly closed, but it still aches because it’s going to take another minute for his muscles and _fucking liver_ to knit itself back together.

     Stiles just tuts rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. You’ll be fine in a minute. _‘Tis a flesh wound’!”_ He laughs at his own joke. The laugh sounds wrong to Derek, derisive and nothing like Stiles. Derek takes a deep breath and smells that primal desire forefront to any other scent aura trait that Stiles carries.

     “Stiles?” He says apprehensively, slowly getting up to put the bed between them. He actually has mentally remind himself that he was an Alpha werewolf, and Stiles is human. The look in his eyes is almost exact to the Nogitsune’s though. It makes him pale.

     Stiles scoffs, watching him put some distance between the two of them. “Really, Der? Settle down. We both know you could dismember me quite easily if you _really_ wanted to.” He says it with a quirk to his mouth, like it’s a welcome challenge. Derek’s stomach churns.

     “Talk to me, Stiles. Tell me what’s going on in there.” He needs to keep Stiles busy, so he has time to think. Is he sleepwalking? Is this really the Nogitsune, somehow freed from the triskelion box? Or is this some entirely new threat?

     “What’s going on is I’m _bored._ ” Stiles says with a sigh. “I got to have all of this fun when I was possessed. When I expelled the Nogit’, it left me with all of these fantastic ideas. Fun things, that I could do to people. Incise and rend and rip…” he closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and breathes in deeply. Derek is startled by the distinct chemosignal that he associates with nostalgia. He’s also pissed at his wolf, who perks at the words. The words appeal to his baser self. He internally growls at it. They _aren’t_ like that. Then Stiles looks back at him, with a disappointed look. “Only, apparently I’m too much of a pussy to actually act on it. So here I am. To help myself along. Help me realize my full potential. Come on, Derek. Let’s have some _fun._ You’ll heal.”

     Stiles suddenly launches himself over the bed, brandishing another knife that he had hidden from view. It was easy enough to dodge the knife when Stiles lunges forward off the bed, but he catches the swipe of the blade with his forearm when Stiles slashes it towards him the second time, aiming for his chest. He could incapacitate him without issue, but he doesn’t want to hurt him. It wasn’t Stiles doing this. No, this was something twisted and dark.

     He bares his fangs as pain lanced up his arm. “Stiles, stop!” He growls, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until the knife fell from his fingers.

     “You’ll have to make me.” His grin is maniacal and barely contained glee shines in his eyes. He pushes in close, crowding Derek against the wall. He bares his teeth and Derek thinks he’s giving a toothy smile, when he darts in and bites Derek on the shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Derek roars and shoves Stiles back. He lands hard and hits the back of his head against the corner of the bed with a yelp of pain. Derek quickly bends down to grab the knife and watches Stiles warily. Stiles groans and rubs the back of his head, then stiffens with a sharp intake of breath and looks around with wide eyes. He catches sight of Derek.

     “Derek? What happened to you?!” He pushes up off of the floor and goes to step towards Derek, who takes a reflexive step back. Stiles looks confused.

     “Stiles?” Derek says slowly.

     “What?” Stiles has his brows together in a frown. He smacks his lips. He’s tasting Derek’s blood. “I cut my lip...?” He says to himself and raises a hand to touch his face, then notices the blood on his hands. He looks back up at Derek, slowly putting the pieces together. “Did... Holy shit. I did this, didn’t I? Where are you hurt?”

     “Already healed.” Derek quickly assures him, placing the knife on the dresser and approaching Stiles. He looks directly into his eyes. “What do you remember?”

     Stiles eyes widen, and his already racing heart starts to pick up. “Nothing... I... I went to bed on your couch, and then I’m waking up on your floor with pain in the back of my head.” He starts hyperventilating and clutches at his chest. His eyes look around wildly. “ _I_ did this. I tried to kill you! Derek, I- I-” He’s falling into a panic attack.

     “No, no, no! Look at me, Sitles. Breath. Just breath. I’m fine!” Derek is so not equipped for this. He has no clue what he’s doing. He wraps one hand around Stiles’ nape, squeezing gently but firmly, and with the other he grabs the hand Stiles has scrabbling at his chest. He presses it against his own chest. He pulls their foreheads together. “Feel me breathe, Stiles. Try to match my breathing.” He takes a deep breath in; let’s it out slowly. Repeats it. “Say it with me. Alpha, Beta, Omega. Alpha, Beta, Omega.”

     Stiles repeats the mantra with him. His words are shaky and broken at first, and after a handful of seconds, he’s breathing normal again and his chanting is clear and concise.

     “Are you okay now?” Derek asks, unwilling to let him go until he knows he’s fully out of his panic attack, and won’t slip back in.

     “Yeah… Yeah. I think I’m good.” Derek finally lets him go, and sits next to him against the foot of the bed.

     “What the fuck happened, Derek?” There’s a crack in his voice.

     Derek tells him everything. He doesn’t leave anything out, but he also tries to say it in a way that isn’t going to hurt Stiles. Which is pretty much impossible. When he’s done, they sit silently for a minute. Stiles isn’t even picking at anything or biting his lip, or jiggling a leg, and the lack of nervous movement is jarring to Derek.

     “I think... I think we need to go to Deaton. Now. I can’t fall back asleep. What if... Whatever this is, comes back out? I can’t.”

     “Okay.” Derek agrees. He stands to grab his phone and sees that it’s nearly 3am. He texts Deaton, _Need to see you now. It’s Stiles. Something isn’t right._

     He isn’t surprised when Deaton texts him only 30 seconds later to meet him at the clinic. Sometimes he wonders if the guy even sleeps. “Come on.” He says, helping Stiles up. “Let’s go.”


	3. Chapter 3

     Deaton is standing there, staring at Stiles with that annoying thoughtful expression on his face. If anyone was judging their conversation based on his stance, they’d think Stiles was talking about a fond childhood memory. It takes all of Derek’s self-control not to slap him. He’s always been a little edgy around Deaton. He can never get a proper grasp on either his scent aura or his chemosignals. He’s not sure if it’s because Deaton is an emissary, or because he does something to mask them. He suspects it’s the latter.

     “Derek?” Deaton says, and Derek realizes that he’d been asked a question.

     “Sorry, what?”

     “What were Stiles’  _ exact _ words when he spoke to you. Did he use the pronouns we, he, or I?”

     Derek thinks for a moment. “He said ‘I’.”

     “Interesting.” Was all Deaton said.

     Derek’s attention was caught by Stiles. He was staring at his hands and muttering to himself. “What are you saying?”

     Stiles looked up sheepishly. “Oh. When I was possessed by the Nogitsune, I would count my fingers to make sure I wasn’t trapped in my head, to make sure I was awake.”

     Derek reaches over and grips his nape. “You’re here. This is real.” He hopes that the skin-to-skin contact grounds him.

     “I have no reason to believe that you are anyone but yourself,” Deaton tells Stiles with a gentle voice. “Based on what you have told me, and what Derek has told me, it sounds similar Dissociative Identity Disorder. Except, where normally this would come about from early childhood trauma, yours was purposely created by the Nogitsune, perhaps as a lasting punishment.”

     “So, what, I need to go see a therapist?” Stiles sounds as skeptical as Derek feels.

     “Not exactly, no. Your alter, so it is called, stems from magic. It needs to be handled differently.”

     “I just want to be rid of it. I’m afraid to sleep. I’m lucky I was at Derek’s tonight and not at home with my dad. Sorry,” He winces and glances sideways at Derek. Derek just shrugs. He’s no worse for wear.

     “Well, trying to get rid of your alter could prove catastrophic. There are rituals that can purge a second personality from a person, but if your other ‘you’ proves to be stronger, he could take over permanently, and we’d banish this ‘you’. Additionally, I do not think that this is a ‘second personality’. I believe the Nogitsune splintered your soul, and within that splinter, he drew in and amplified everything that humans feel on a base, primal level. It is something that is already inside you, inside everyone. The Nogitsune manifested it in such a way that it has the ability to control you, but only to a point. Your spirit and mind need balance, and a splintered soul teeters that balance. It seems to me that when you are asleep, your subconscious leans toward this splintered piece. If this is the case, as I believe it is, then there is no chance of expelling it. Our best bet is to get him to agree to become one with you, to be whole again, to meld. Typically, a splintered soul craves to be mended. But we need to see exactly what he wants, and if this is something he is willing to do.”

     “Whoa, wait a second. So there’d be two personalities living in my head? Like a second voice, whispering to me? Or taking control of my body?” His voice has climbed an octave. Panic radiates off of him. Derek applies some pressure to Stiles’ nape, and it seems to calm him. 

     “No, it would not be like that.” Deaton assures. “It is not coexisting in that traditional sense. After all, you are only you. Even with the Nogitsune’s lasting influence, your alter is still you. If he- and I  _ say _ he, but I  _ mean _ you- were to agree to meld with  _ this _ you, it would not be as if there were two people controlling one body. It is more like the two personalities would become one. Say you hate donuts, but your alter loves donuts. If you were to meld, you would simply start liking donuts. You would still have the ability to choose whether or not to indulge in that craving, though.  _ You would still be you.” _

     “You can’t just, like, delete that part of my soul or something?” Stiles asks in a small voice. 

     Deaton becomes very serious. “The soul is a complex thing. Taking away even a sliver could destroy a person’s entire being. Not even the most skilled would do something such as that. It goes against nature.”

     Stiles nods and chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds. Then, he seems to make up his mind. “So if we get rid of it, and this is the best option, how do we ask him what he wants?”

     “Hypnosis. He seems to only come out when you’re asleep. I’d put you in a trance, and call him forth.”

     “And then you can call me back, right? I won’t be stuck as... as him?”

     “Generally, with alters, they want to meld. Your souls yearns to be whole. I have a feeling that as long as we play nice, so will he.”

     “Okay then. Let’s get this over with.”

\- - -

     They use rope to tie Stiles to a chair. His wrists are bound to the armrests, ankles to the legs, and there’s a length wrapped around his chest to keep him still. Deaton is in the other side of the room, mixing various herbs. Stiles’ nervous ticks are going full force, and he’s jiggling his leg, tapping his fingers, and chewing his lip all at once. Derek crouches down in front of him.

     “You’re going to be fine. We’ll figure this out.”

     “Thanks.” Stiles says, settling a little.  He licks his lips. “Hey, what was that technique you used bring me down from my panic attack?”

     Derek almost blushes. “It’s, uh... it’s actually what my mom used to do to help us through our full moons when we came of age. The Triskelion? For us, it stands for Alpha, Beta, and Omega. We would use the mantra to ground ourselves, in tandem with physical contact.”

     “Huh.” Stiles is distracted enough by this new information he’s been given and some of the tension leaves his body as he thinks on it.

     “I’m ready when you are,” Deaton interrupts. Stiles features turn scared again. Fear and apprehension cloud his scent. He looks at Deaton and gives a jerky nod. Derek steps back to give Deaton space. 

     Deaton stands in front Stiles. Derek looks over his shoulder to find that he’s added a number of herbs into a mortar and used a pestle to crush it all together. His nose can’t make out any one scent, but mixed together, they make his sense of smell feel clouded.

     “I’m going to light this, and you need to inhale the smoke. It’s going to put you in a relaxed state, open to suggestion. It should be enough to draw your alter out. I do not expect there to be any issues, but you are going to remain tied up until you’re you again. Do you understand?”

     Stiles sucks his lips between his teeth and looks at Derek. Derek gives him a nod and what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Stiles lets out a shaky breath. “Okay, light it up.”

     Deaton strikes a match and drops it into the powder. It sparks and thick smoke swirls up. He holds it in front of Stiles face. The smoke smells harsh and sharp, but has undertones of sweetness in it. It makes Derek’s nose tickle. Stiles takes a few deep breaths, and his head starts to droop. His heartbeat slows. His breathing is steady. Deaton steps away and puts the mortar down.

     “Stiles? I am calling your other you. You know we mean you no harm.”

     Nothing happens for about ten seconds, and Derek starts to fidget. Then, Stiles’ heart starts to beat a little faster. He takes a deep breath and rolls his neck to the left, back, and then right. His neck cracks and the groan he makes is almost obscene. It makes Derek’s hackles rise.

     He finally settles and open his eyes. He has a dark, toothy grin on his face. “You called?”

     “You know everything Stiles knows, so you know what we’ve discussed, and what we want.” Deaton says, no preamble. “What do _ you _ want?”

     “It’s pretty simple.” Stiles says. “I want to have  _ fun _ .” He stretches his fingers out and Turns his head to look at Derek. “Haven’t we already been over this? How’s the liver, by the way?”

     Derek snarls and his eyes flash red. He has to remind himself that this is still Stiles, not an imposter. Just a twisted part of him that he wants no part of. “Explain.” He spits, the word coming out thick through his fangs.

     “Deaton is surprisingly spot-on. This is the part of me that the nogitsune left as a parting gift. The part that people keep locked away. The urges and desires that people -Stiles- so desperately want to act on, but don’t. I’ve been trying to give myself hints-  _ I  _ run the show when I’m asleep, when I’m dreaming- but when I’m awake, I’m so burdened by  _ morals,  _ and  _ virtue,  _ and  _ fear _ .” He makes a face as he says the words, like they’re dirty things. 

     “Have you ever hurt someone, just to take pleasure in their pain? It’s a high unlike anything else. I know you feel it, Derek. The wolf in you. It wants to rip and tear and rend.” Derek shuffles his feet uncomfortably, and Stiles grins smugly. “In my case, I got tired of waiting. The mind is most open to suggestion when you’re sleeping. That’s when I can grab the steering wheel. When I allowed myself to that cat? I let myself sleep  _ so good _ after. But I just can’t seem to let go. So I tried showing myself that this me can take over whenever I want. But instead I nearly pissed myself when I woke up on the couch!” He laughs, it’s the laughter of someone completely off the rails.

     “What are your intentions? With yourself and with others?” Deaton says, trying to keep Stiles on topic.

     “I’m not going to  _ hurt _ myself, if that’s what you’re asking,” He says with a roll of his eyes. “Unless that gets me my way?”

     “Don’t!” Derek says the word without meaning to.

     “What’s wrong, sourwolf? Won’t like me anymore if my face isn’t pretty?” He pouts, but it’s an ugly thing. “I can play nice if you do. Besides, my pain tolerance is shit.” He snorts. “ _ Anyways _ , if my main me wants to meld, I’ll do it. I can always lock me away in the dark recesses of my mind, so this me is the only one around, but that’s no way to live, amiright? I’m not stupid enough to not realize that if I have full control, I’d be dead within a year. It pays to have caution, something which I lack. The main me doesn’t though. I’ll keep me safe, and I’ll keep things fun.” This is so confusing, it’s making Derek’s head spin. “So yeah, I’ll meld. But that means that I get what I want. To inflict pain every now and then. to live life to the fullest. To have  _ fun _ .”

     “You’ve certainly given us a lot to think about... Stiles.” Deaton says

     “Please, call this me Void Stiles.” He says cheerily.

     “Void Stiles.” Deaton repeats. “ I’m going to call forth... Main Stiles now, so we can talk to him. You have a way of keeping your thoughts and experiences hidden from him.”

     “My poor mind is too fragile in that state. I wouldn’t want to break me, now would I? I’ll give me two days to make up my mind. I won’t try to kill, or hurt, or maim for two whole days. I can either meld, or I can become this, full time. It’s up to me!” Stiles- Void Stiles- is treating the whole thing like some joke. It irritates Derek in ways that Stiles never has before. He finds himself eager to get Main Stiles back. “Welp, no need to do your” He wiggles his fingers as best he can, tied to the chair as they are- “Ooga-booga thing. I’m letting go. See ya in 48 hours, Der! If you need me sooner just ask.”

     He winks at Derek. Then his eyes unfocus. He blinks rapidly and shakes his head a little. Focuses back on Derek. “Did it work? What did he say?”

     He looks scared and hopeful and apprehensive, and it pulls at Derek’s heart. He must see the look on Derek’s face. “What? What’s wrong? Derek, please.” Tears are forming in his eyes. Derek mentally kicks himself and goes to untie him.

     “Deaton?” He says unhelpfully, hoping that Deaton can make heads or tails of the situation.

     Deaton swallows and foxes his features. “It would appear that Void Stiles- that's what you asked to be called- is fully willing to meld. But he has... parameters, you could say.” Derek finally frees stiles’ wrists, and stiles rubs one with his hand, trying to rub out some of the discomfort.

     “Parameters? Like what?” Stiles asks apprehensively. His body is fraught with tension. Derek can practically feel it rolling off him in waves.

     “Void Stiles wants to be able to... hurt. You said you’d agree to meld if you were allowed to hurt people.”

     Stiles pales. His heartbeat picks up. Derek finally gets the last of the ropes off, and helps him to stand. He keeps a hand on his nape.

     “Me? Why would I want that? Who am I going to hurt? I can’t! You have to-get rid of him or something!” Stiles is panicking again.

      _“_ _ Breathe _ _,_ Stiles.” Derek murmurs.

     “It’s not as easy as ‘getting rid of him’.” Deaton says. “It’s not a possession, or a phantom, it’s you. It’s a part of you. Getting rid of him would be like ripping your mind, your soul in half. People don’t survive that sort of thing.” Deaton’s words are measured. “I could teach you how to push it down, keep it locked up, but where he’s still you, it’s just as likely that he could do the same to the main you, and you’d be this Void Stiles permanently.”

     Tears are falling down Stiles’ face. His voice is a whisper. “What do we do?”

     “Sleep on it.” Deaton says. “Void Stiles promised us 48 hours for you to come to a decision, and I have no reason to believe that you would lie. I think some time to mull this over is exactly what we all need.”

\- - -

     The sun is starting to rise as they get back to the loft, and Derek is exhausted. Stiles was silent the whole ride back, and when they step into the loft, he doesn’t move from the door. Derek turns to give him a questioning look.

     “Listen, Derek. I understand if you don’t want me to stay here.” He’s looking and his feet and wringing his fingers together.

     “What are you talking about? Don’t be ridiculous.” Derek says in a no-nonsense sort of way.

     “I  _ attacked _ you while you were sleeping.”

     “First of all, I’m refusing to think of ‘Void Stiles’ as you. Secondly, he wasn’t even trying to kill me. He was purposely making the wounds superficial.”

     “That doesn’t make it better! It still happened! I’m dangerous. I can’t be around anyone.” He turns to open the door. Derek steps forward and catches his forearm.

     “Hey! None of that. We’re going to find a way out of this. We always do.” Derek pauses. “You’re  _ pack _ , Stiles. And that means that I look out for you. That also means that I’m your alpha and you have to listen to me. So I’m telling you: you’re staying here until we sort this out.” Stiles opens his mouth to argue. “Do  _ not _ _-”_ Derek’s eyes turn red- “make me use my Alpha voice.”

     It’s such a ridiculous statement that Stiles laughs. He relaxes. “Okay, loud and clear. I hear you. Just-“ an unpleasant look crosses his face. “Promise me that you’ll do what needs to be done. If things go south.”

     “I won’t let it get to that.” Derek growls.

     “Promise me, Derek!” Stiles pleads.

     “Fine.” Derek acquiesces, but only to please Stiles. He vows to himself to do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t get that far.


	4. Chapter 4

     They wake up around 10am, and start in on their day. Stiles takes a shower, and Derek grabs the bloody bed sheets and clothes that he had tossed in the corner when they arrived back at the loft. He starts a load of laundry, and then hops into the shower after Stiles. He silently praises the size of the water heater that the building has.

     Derek is pleasantly surprised that it’s not as uncomfortable as he assumed it would be, having Stiles here. They aren’t awkwardly bumping into each other, and there’s more than enough room in the loft to let them have their own space. After he showers and dresses himself, he trots down the spiral staircase to find Stiles at the kitchen island, laptop out, in full research mode.

     Derek grabs his wallet off of the side table by the door. “I’m gonna pick up some breakfast from that coffee shop at the corner, you want something?”

     “Hamncheese’sont.” He mumbles around the pen he’s chewing, engrossed in whatever he’s reading. “Coffee.” He pauses and looks to the ceiling, a thoughtful look on his face. “Chocolate danish.” He nods once and dives right back in.

     Derek snorts to himself and heads out. On his shot walk to the coffee shop, he catches a familiar scent in the breeze drifting towards him. _Roses and honey_. He frowns and lifts his eyes to a man about ten feet in front of him, unlocking his car. He’s seen him before. He lives in one of the apartments above the coffee shop. Maybe he was Joanne’s boyfriend? Or a family member?

     When the guy catches him looking, Derek gives him a tight smile, a short nod, and almost offers his condolences, but remembers that it would seem strange coming from someone the man doesn’t recognize. His scent aura isn’t tainted with the lingering smell that loss gives off, but Derek does pick up a hint of… entitlement? Resentment? Either way, it’s not his job to psychoanalyze every stranger he crosses paths with.

     He goes inside the coffee shop, gets their breakfast, and heads back to the loft. He’s only been gone maybe half an hour, but Stiles already has notes strewn everywhere. It looks like he’s gone through half a notepad. Some are crumpled into little balls, others are spread on the floor, there’s even several stuck on the fridge with magnets. “Hey, dude!” He says with enthusiasm when Derek walks through the door. “So, get this...”

\- - -

     They work into the evening. Stiles sifts through the Internet on his laptop, and Derek searches through the old tomes he’s acquired. Sometimes they work in silence, and other times they bounce ideas off of each other, becoming engrossed in theories and conversation.

     They come up empty for the most part. Derek growls in frustration at the same time his stomach does in hunger. He glances at his phone and is surprised to find that it’s nearing 7pm. They decide call it quits for the night, and Derek orders pizza.

     Stiles is in a subdued mood as he scrolls through his video library on his laptop. “We have Game of Thrones, Dexter, Supernatural, True Blood...”

     “Stiles,” Derek interrupts. “I don’t watch tv. And I’m _not_ about to binge a television show. Pick a movie.”

     Stiles pouts. He’s been trying to get Derek into watching tv shows, those four in particular, but Derek can’t just sit still for hours on end. He doesn’t know how Stiles and Scott do it nearly every weekend.

     Stiles sighs dramatically. “I guess we’ll have to watch Iron Man then.” Derek snorts. As if it’s some sort of awful turn of events that Stiles has to view Iron Man for what is probably the tenth time.

     They’re about halfway through the movie and Derek is zoning out, when something clicks. His eyes go wide and he takes a sharp breath. Stiles looks at him with an arched brow.

     “You okay, dude?”

     Derek schools his features, trying to go for nonchalance. “Uh, Yeah. I just remembered that I never switched the load to the dryer.” He stands up to go do that.

     Stiles laughs. “You are so dramatic, man.” He shakes his head in what could almost be considered a fond manner, and gives Iron Man back his undivided attention.

     Derek gets to the laundry room and sags against the washer, astounded by the implication of his sudden idea. Something that could _work_ , could save Stiles and fix this whole mess. As good as it can be fixed, at least. He won’t let Stiles in on it though, not yet. He needs to visit Deaton in the morning to see if this could work. When he goes to bed later that night, he has a renewed sense of hope.

\- - -

     Derek wakes with a jump when he feels a weight pushing against him. Someone’s straddling him and moving their hands up and down his torso. _Shit, not again._ He grabs Stiles wrists, but there’s no weapon.

     “No, Der, it’s me. It’s just me.” Stiles sounds breathless. He wriggles his wrists and Derek lets his hands free.

     “What’s going on, is something wrong?” Derek is confused. Stiles’ hands settle on Derek’s sides, and leans down to brush his lips and then his cheek against the scruff of his perpetual five o’ clock shadow. Derek is thrown, isn’t quite sure what’s happening in his sleepy haze. He’s feels like he’s frozen.

     “I need you to touch me. Kiss me, Der.” Stiles whispers urgently against his ear, then lifts his head to capture Derek’s lips with his own. Derek’s caught off guard, and he makes a surprised noise. He doesn’t stop the kiss at first. Then his brain seems to catch up.

     “Stiles, wait-” He tries to turn his head to break the kiss, but Stiles brings his arms up to box Derek’s head in with his forearms, capturing his lips again. His hips grinds down against Derek. Derek groans at the sensation and his resolve breaks. He gives in with a low rumble in his chest, grabbing Stiles’ waist roughly and thrusting up to meet him.

     “Just like that, Der.” Stiles moans into his mouth. _Der_. It sounds off, wrong coming from him somehow. Derek’s mind is slow to connect the dots, between the bruising kiss he’s receiving and the sparks of growing pleasure that course through his groin. Stiles has only called him that twice before. Both times were when he was-

     “Get the fuck off of me!” He practically roars and shoves Stiles off of him, at the same time backing up the bed to sit by his pillows.

     Stiles nearly falls off the end of the bed and is laughing. That sadistic, mean laugh. “What’s wrong, sourwolf, not the Stiles you were _hoping_ for?” He looks pointedly at Derek’s crotch, where there’s an obvious tent in his pajama bottoms. Derek feels like a blushing schoolgirl when he pulls the blanket up to cover his lap. “We can keep going if you want. I’ll never let me know. It can be our secret.”

     “Fuck you.” Derek throws back at him. He’s so disgusted with himself right now. Thinking Stiles would willingly crawl into his bed and _Enjoying_ the prospect? What the fuck is wrong with him? “You said we had 48 hours. It’s only been 24.”

     “I said I wouldn’t _hurt, maim, or kill anyone_ . I never said anything about being a goody-two shoes. I need _release_ . I need _fun_.” He puts on a fake pout. “Come on, Der. Let me blow you. And if you can’t let me do that, at least let me cut you up a little.”

     There’s a sadistic glint in his eye and a side smirk to match. That look mixed with his primal suggestions makes Derek’s dick twitch against his will. His personal opinion of himself sinks even further.

     “ _NO_.” He grits out. “Let Stiles be. We have 24 more hours. Besides, I’m working on something that I think will be pleasing to both of you.”

     “Both of us? When will you see that there’s only one of us, Der. I’m Stiles, just without those pesky morals. All of my wants, all of my desires, everything I’m afraid to even think about because I’m afraid I might _like_ it. I’m pure confidence, with no fear of failure. You know, when I’m sleeping, and I play in my dreams, I kill Scott. I kill dad. I kill Lydia, Erica, even my own mother. But the ones where I kill _you_ , those are the ones that scare me the most. That _hurt_ me the most, when I wake up. And the fact that they make me feel like that, confuses my pathetic self even more. Have you ever fantasized about me? I have about you. A _lot._ Want to lick your abs and bite your bottom lip and let you fuck my mouth. But I try so desperately not to, because I’m afraid you’ll smell it on me. Can you smell desire? I bet it smells _amazing.”_

     He starts crawling back up the bed with a predatory look.

     “Stop.” Derek says, pushing himself further against the headboard. “Just, stop. Get out of my bed and go back to the couch.” When Stiles looks like he has no intention of listening, he tries a different approach. One that will appeal to Void Stiles. “I don’t want him remembering any of this. He’s just going to torture himself over it, and the last thing you want is teen angst. He’ll also avoid me like the Black Plague. And I can get you what you want. What you need. Just, give me until tonight. Let Stiles be until tonight.”

     Void Stiles sits back on his heels, looking thoughtful. “Okay. You sound confident enough. I’ll be waiting to be called forward, Derek. Don’t make me fight for control. Because I WILL win. I will crush my sad, soft, scared self into dust. Make me agree to become one with myself.” With that said, he hops off the bed lightly and walks to the door. The way he moves is a stark contrast to how Stiles usually is. This is a strut of confidence and composure.

     At the door frame, he turns to look over his shoulder. “Dream good dreams, Derek. I know I will.” He winks and walks out. Derek hears him walk down the stairs and settle onto the couch. His heart slows and steadies, as does his breathing.

     Derek doesn’t sleep.

\- - -

     The next morning, Derek feels dead on his feet. He doesn’t know what to expect when he goes downstairs. He figures it’s best to treat it like a bandaid. He puts on a T-shirt and heads to the kitchen. Stiles is his typical octopus mess of limbs, flung every which way on the couch. He’s surprised by the feeling of fondness that blooms in his chest.

     He’s been battling with his emotions all night. Sure, he cares for Stiles; Stiles is pack. But he’s never thought of him _that way,_ not really. Or is it the fact that since he’s only 17, Derek’s pushed down whatever he might have felt, hidden then from even himself? He can’t deny how it felt last night, to have Stiles’ weight pushing him down, to feel his hips grind against him. Before reality had come crashing down, both him and his wolf had been fully on board. He has to clear his throat and quash down the thought before other parts of his body got too invested.

     As per the norm (When had Derek started to think of it as normal?), the sounds and smells of the coffee machine wake Stiles up. He stretches with a satisfied _Mmm_ , arms high over his head, before he rolls off the couch and makes his way over to the kitchen island. His hair is sticking up in all directions, and Derek has to hide the slight blush that sets itself high on his cheeks when he recognizes a small, faded patch of beard burn on his cheek bone.

     “... How did you sleep?” Derek asks apprehensively, trying to go for casual as Stiles slides onto a stool.

     “Surprisingly well, actually. It seems that ‘Void Me’ was being truthful. I didn’t have a single nasty dream. They were nice.” He looks past Derek like he’s suddenly remembering something, and his face turns beat red. He quickly ducks his head to face his hands, which are clasped together tightly on the counter. “Can’t really remember much.” He mumbles.

     Derek gets up fast to grab the mugs. But mostly to hide his own raging blush. He has a feeling that he knows _exactly_ what Stiles dreamt about. He silently curses Void Stiles. Thankfully, Stiles is too wrapped up in his own embarrassment to notice Derek’s.

     “I have an idea, to fix all this.” Derek says while he’s fixing up their coffees. He had gone out and bought half & half and sugar when he knew stiles was staying the weekend. “I’m not going to tell you what it is yet, but I want you to meet me at my old house this evening. I have to get a few things ready, and go over it with Deaton.”

     “I can’t know what it is beforehand?” Stiles asks curiously, taking his cup with both hands and holding it close to chest, clearly savoring the warmth. He looks nervous. It’s a recurring facial expression that’s been marring his face far too much recently, and Derek wants to rub the frown lines away with his thumb. _Uuuh, What?_ He gives his head a little shake to get that idea out of his head, stat.

     “I’d rather you not tell you until I talk to Deaton first. But I really think it will work. Stiles, do you trust me?”

     Stiles looks him straight in the eyes. “Yeah, I do.” He says, placing a hand over Derek’s with a small smile. Then he seems to remember himself, and snatches his hand away. “What am I supposed to do all day?” He asks, quickly changing the subject. “Can I help?”

     “No, I need to do this on my own. Relax. Watch a movie, do some homework, hang out with Scott. Just... it might be better not to take a nap.” He winces apologetically. “Sorry. I know it’s going to be a long day. Try to keep yourself busy.”

     Stiles is chewing his bottom lip and frowning, but he nods his head. When he leaves the loft twenty minutes later, Derek gets to work.


	5. Chapter 5

 

     Evening rolls around all too soon, and Derek is restlessly pacing back and forth in front of the husk that was once his childhood home. He hears the Jeep before he sees it, and does his best to school his features. Stiles need to see that he’s confident, sure of the plan.

     The Jeep comes around the last bend thirty seconds later. Stiles hops out and walks towards Derek. His scent is filled with hope, apprehension, and a buzz of nervous energy. Down at his side, he’s rapidly tapping his middle finger against his thumb on his right hand, and looks around with a slight look of confusion.

     “Okay, so what’s the big reveal? Did you talk to Deaton, is it going to work?” Stiles is fidgeting embodied. His ticks are more pronounced than usual, and he’s going to worry a hole right through his cheek if he doesn’t stop chewing on it.

     “Yeah, Deaton thinks that this is our best option.” Derek says. His own nervous movements undermine the confidence of his words, though. It’s not lost on Stiles, who eyes him warily, but doesn't say anything. “Come on, follow me.”

     He leads Stiles away from the house. If Stiles is confused by the move, he keeps it to himself. He blindly follows Derek. Not for the first time, Derek is reminded of how wolf-like Stiles is, despite being fully human. He’s stubborn, and will put up a hell of a fight if he believes things could be handled better, but at his core he’s a beta who puts trust in his Alpha. Derek can only hope that after tonight, that trust is not shattered.  

     Stiles stumbles a few times, and Derek stupidly remembers that he’s human and can’t see as well as the others. It’s probably near pitch-black to his eyes.

     “Here.” Derek says. He reaches out and grabs Stiles’ hand. Gives it a gentle squeeze. Stiles mouth falls open, and then he snaps it shut. Grips Derek’s hand like it’s a life line. Derek ignores his wolf, who preens at the release of shy appreciation that mingles with Stiles’ scent, and continues down the old, forgotten path.

     Derek leads him about fifty yards deeper into the woods, and they stop near a well-hidden cellar door. The door to the tunnels underneath his old house. Where Kate tortured him. He quickly pushes the thought away and hefts open the metal door.

     He steps aside, motioning Stiles forward, and Stiles slowly descends with a hand against the wall. Derek follows, closing the cellar door behind them.  Where the floor evens out, Derek lifts an electric lantern that he had placed there earlier. It flares to life, revealing a short hallway that leads to a second metal door, leading to the rest of the tunnels and rooms therein.

     Stiles makes to walk towards the door, a grim determination set in his face, and Derek puts a hand on his chest to stop him from proceeding. “You said you trust me this morning. Did you mean it?”

     “Absolutely.” Stiles says without missing a beat. Derek feels like this would be a little easier if he didn’t trust him so implicitly. The Stiles that he’s more familiar with wouldn’t be so quick to announce his loyalty. However, this past week has brought them closer. Derek has seen it, in the way that Stiles will take his time to mull over what Derek has said, rather than immediately arguing for a better solution. This weekend, Stiles has been more relaxed around him than ever before.

     It makes Derek feel like shit for being the one to come up with this plan. There’s a chance that it could destroy whatever faith Stiles has placed in him as his Alpha. But Deaton agreed that it was their best option, probably their only one where Stiles didn’t come out of it deeply maimed, in Eichen, or  worse, dead.

     Derek realizes that he’s been in his head for too long. Stiles is giving him a questioning look. He pushes his shoulders back and straightens his spine, exuding confidence as best he can.

     “Okay. So like Deaton said, you’re still you. This isn’t some other being, or possession, or body snatching. The two pieces of you, they belong to one soul. _Your_ soul. So if we try to remove Void Stiles, we’d be removing a piece of that soul. We’re not even considering that as an option. The second option would be for you to fight for dominance. If you lost, then _this_ you would be gone. Forever. Void Stiles would take complete control. That’s too risky. A fight for dominance is also what it’s going to happen if we do nothing.

     The final option, and our best shot... is for you two to meld. You’re already one soul; you need to become one mind again. When you do this… there’ll be no going back. You’ll still be you, this Stiles, because this Stiles is the main one, so to speak. It’s the larger of the two soul pieces. But Void Stiles will become a part of your personality too. So you’re going to feel what he feels, want what he wants. His emotions and desires will be your emotions and desires, to a degree.”

     “But... he said that he wants to kill people.” Stiles said. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to _be_ that. I _can’t_ be that, not again.” He looks close to tears. As has become increasingly normal in the last few days, Derek rests his hand on Stiles nape and gives it a gentle squeeze. Stiles relaxes into his touch, but fear is still present in his eyes. After a second, he drops his hand away.

     “That’s where my idea comes in.” Derek pauses. “Actually, you gave me the idea. Last night, when you were deciding what to watch. You mentioned Dexter.”

     It takes no time at all for Stiles to figure out where he’s going with this. His eyes go wide. “You think I can be some sort of, what, serial killer vigilante? Derek, that’s crazy, man.” Disappointment and betrayal creep into his scent.

     “No, listen!” Derek is quick to reassure him. “It actually makes sense. You might not feel like you want to now, but once you meld with Void Stiles, you’re going to have a primal side. You might be able to contain it for a while, but it’s going to be an integral part of you. Pushing it down will only work for so long. Believe me, being a wolf, it’s something that I understand.” He grits his teeth, already embarrassed before the words leave his mouth. “... Even I have to catch Bambi a few times a year to get it out of my system.” He’s not pleased on sharing that tidbit of information. Stiles fully turns to him, mouth agape, and then starts laughing. It’s so out of place with the situation, yet so completely Stiles. Derek tries to frown, but can’t hide the slight uptick of his lips at hearing Stiles laugh, even if only for a moment.

     “Dude, whatever happens, this is the best day.” His laugh dies down, and he gets serious again. He looks around, brows furrowed. Derek feels like his facial expressions may be rubbing off on him. “What are we doing here then?”

     Okay. Here’s the grand reveal. He hopes Stiles doesn’t freak out. “This is the test run. Those rapes and murders? I found the guy responsible. No doubts, it’s him. He’s bound in on of the rooms.” Today, after Stiles had left and Derek had talked to Deaton, he paid a visit to the man he had scented yesterday. When the guy had opened his apartment door, the stench of blood still lingered in the air. After that, it wasn’t hard to get him to confess when Derek had popped claws and fangs.

     Stiles looks both awed and terrified at the same time. “You... you want me to kill him?” His voice sounds small, almost childlike. It cuts Derek the quick.

     “Not yet. First, I need to talk to Void Stiles. Explain to him how this is going to work. Make sure he’ll keep up his end of the deal, and meld.” Stiles nods quickly, looking at the ground. Derek’s nose is tingles with the salty tang of tears. This must be so overwhelming for Stiles, yet it’s nothing that can be stopped. Derek recognizes how powerless he must feel.

     “Stiles, I want you to know, if we do this? We’re in it together. I’ll help you. I can find deplorables, and you can dispatch them. You’ll never have to do it alone. Deaton agrees that it’s as perfect as the situation can be.” He places his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, and turns him so that he’s looking into his eyes. “I will not abandon you. You’re pack, Stiles.”

     Stiles sniffs and nods, a small smile playing on his lips. His scent is a mix of relief, longing, acceptance, and affection. Derek takes a deep breath, savoring the bouquet of emotions that Stiles presents. With a small shake of his head to clear his thoughts, he lets go of Stiles and steps back.

     “But I need to call him forth now, okay? You need to close your eyes and let go of your control. Let him rise to the surface for just a few minutes. I promise, everything will be fine.”

     When Derek says that last sentence, he tries to pour as much reassurance into as he can. He can see a certain resolve come over Stiles. He really does trust him.

     “Okay. I’m ready.” He closes his eyes and stands there. His fingers stop twitching, and his teeth release his bottom lip. Seconds tick by, and nothing happens.

     “Void Stiles?” Derek asks uncertainly. Deaton told him that it should be seamless for the most part to call him forth if Stiles is consciously allowing him to step forward.

     Stiles opens one eye and looks at him. “You called?” It’s followed by that obnoxious, shit-eating grin that has quickly gotten on Derek’s nerves. He wants to make this quick.

     “I know you heard everything.” He bites out, no preamble. “Do you accept?”

     “I most certainly do! This is going to be great. I’ll have you, my ever loyal hound dog, to track the bad guys, and I get to have my fun!” He claps his hands together, and Derek sneers at him. His wolf responds to Void Stiles’ erratic energy in a way that he’d rather not inspect. He really dislikes Void Stiles.

     “Good. So let go then. Give Stiles back control. He’ll be melding with you shortly.”

     “Sure thing. See you on the other side, Sourwolf.” Stiles winks and closes his eyes with a serene smile on his face. The smile falters, and his fingers start tapping against his leg again. That’s when Derek knows that they’ve switched. Stiles opens his eyes apprehensively. “Did he agree?”

     “Yeah, were good to go. Come on, our guest is waiting.” Derek grabs the lantern, opens the door, and leads him about fifteen yards down the hallway. This isn’t the room where Kate tortured him. It’s one that his family had used to contain family members coming of age, when the wolf was at its most difficult to rein in. There’s nothing in the room other than a metal ring in the center with cuffed chains fed through it. Derek opens the door and lets Stiles in first.

     “His name is Howard,” He tells Stiles, hanging the lantern on a hook in the ceiling. The man in the middle of the room, cuffed to the chains, lets out a whimper and tries to back up as far as he can before the chains catch and pull at his wrists. He looks up at Stiles pleadingly.

     “Please, kid. This guy is crazy. He attacked me in my own home-”

     “Joanne. Do you remember Joanne?” Stiles cuts him off. His posture is firm, tall, but Derek can see tremors running through his body. His fists are clenched, in anger or fear, Derek doesn’t know. His scent is a turmoil of chemosignals, flitting between themselves too fast for Derek to properly make heads or tails of it.

     “Joanne? Who? No, I don’t know a Joanne.” He sounds less frantic, and more standoffish.

     “She’s the woman you killed last week. You raped her, strangled her, and left her naked on the side of the highway.”

     Howard loses his cool. “She was a fucking slut who asked for it.” He growls, then he backtracks. “I mean, I don’t know kid, we had sex and then she left! I didn’t hurt her.”

     Stiles resolve visibly hardens. “What do I have to do to meld?” He asks Derek in a steady voice, not taking his eyes off of Howard.

     “Deaton said that you simply have to stop fighting. Agree to become one in mind, spirit, and soul. Once you do, once you let go, he said it should be instantaneous.”

     “Okay.” He finally looks up at Derek. “If things go south... Thanks. For everything. You are a good Alpha. You’re a good _person_ , Derek.” Derek gives a sharp nod, and finds himself holding back tears. Howard looks confused out of his fucking mind.

     Stiles takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes once more. Derek can scent the change when it happens, in a way he hadn’t been able to previous times. He still smells like Stiles, nothing has been removed. But, his scent aura has adopted an additional, new scent. This one is slightly sharp, with an edge that makes his wolf shiver in anticipation and recognition.

     It’s a raw, primal, self-serving emotion. It’s the scent of someone who freely gives into base pleasures without qualm. Someone who recognizes what they want, and has no shame in reaching out and taking it. He’s never smelt a human with an aura quite like this. Whenever he’s been presented with this scent, it’s overshadowed and sullied any others in a person’s aura. With Stiles, it freely mingles with the rest of his personality. His loyalty, his empathy, his kindness. It’s such an alluring scent that Derek has to focus on fading his eyes after they flare bright red.

     Stiles’ stance changes. He straightens his back and pushes his chest out. By his sides, his fingers flex in, then stretch out, then still. His heart beats steady when it had been pounding before. Calm settles over him.

      _“Oh.”_ Stiles says quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up. It almost sounds inquisitive. He opens his eyes and turns his head to Derek, cocking it to one side. Derek is afraid of what he’ll see, but he’s worrying for no reason. He can still see Stiles in those eyes. Stiles smiles at him. It exudes easy confident. It suits him. He turns his attention to Howard.

     “Howie, Howie, Howie." He tsks. "You’ve hurt a lot of people. I think it’s time someone hurt you.” His voice is low, smooth, and carries a conviction that leaves Derek wanting to hear him say more, anything. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with his own thoughts, and then moves to the next phase to keep his mind busy.

     “No, no, no! Listen, I’ve got money-” Derek stalks towards him with a roll of duct tape. Howard yelps and backs up as far as he can before the chains are pulling at his wrists. Derek rips a long piece and roughly presses it over Howard’s mouth. He steps behind him and then drags him forward towards the door, so that the chains are now pulling his arms back. Derek kicks the backs of Howard’s shins and forces him to his knees.

     “In the duffel, just outside the door.” He tells Stiles, holding Howard by the shoulders to keep him still. Stiles quirks an eyebrow, and turns to the door, stepping out of sight to grab a bag that he had previously missed. He walks into view with a simple Bowie knife. The light of the lantern doesn’t quite reach the hallway, and he’s bathed in shadows. Derek’s gut clenches at the foreboding sight.

     “This is nice.” Stiles says with appreciation, testing the weight. Howard whimpers. Stiles saunters back into the room, and his gait is slightly different. More like Void Stiles, but still the Stiles he knows.

     Stiles presses the tip of the knife into his forefinger, and he’s twisting it back and forth with the other. Howard sounds like he’s trying to reason, but comes out muffled and unintelligible.

     Stiles steps up to Howard and sinks to his knees, where they’re eye-level. He closes his eyes and rolls his neck back in a half circle. Howard is struggling, and the acrid stench of panic invades Derek’s nostrils. He grips his shoulders in a way that is most likely painful. Howard whimpers and stills.

     Stiles straightens his head, pushes back his shoulders, and opens his eyes. There’s a stark coldness in them, a look that says there is no room for negotiation. With his free hand, he cups the back of Howard’s head, in a way that could almost be described as intimate.

     “Goodbye now, Howard.” He says simply, and plunges the knife in, just under his jaw, with no preamble.

     Howard shrieks, and even though it’s muffled, it’s still an awful noise, one that gives you goosebumps and rises your hackles. At least, that’s probably how Derek should be reacting, but he isn’t paying attention to Howard and his dying keens. He’s looking at Stiles, and Stiles is staring directly back. His wolf is dangerously close to the surface, reveling in a kill shared between a packmate. The atmosphere is charged with an almost tangible snapping and buzzing of electricity. Stiles smells of satisfaction, and it sends shivers down Derek’s spine.

     Then Stiles looks down at the knife still buried in Howard’s neck, and the connection is broken. He yanks the knife out, and blood spurts across his face and chest. His eyes are wide, and he looks like he’s torn between gaping and grinning. He almost look like he’s in awe. Derek lets go of Howard, who slumps to the side and spasms on the floor. He’ll be dead in under a minute, and he poses no threat. Stiles had struck his carotid with precision, severing it in half.

     Stiles stands up, looking at his hands. He’s slowly turning them and flexing his fingers, like he’s experienced having hands before. One is covered in blood, and the other is clean.

     “Wow. That was... what a _rush!”_ He looks up at Derek, beaming. “I’m still me! I’m still me, Derek. I don’t feel an urge to hurt you, or Scott, or Dad… but I had no problem killing _him.”_ He sneers at Howard’s prone form. “That felt so good. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It felt like... like _release_.” He breathes in deeply. He looks happy. Invigorated. Free. “What do we do with this piece of shit?”

     “We’ll leave him somewhere for your dad to find. There’s more than enough evidence in his apartment to implicate him in the murder of those women… he was a fan of _trophies._ Past that, let the sheriff’s department come up with whatever theory they want to. But we’ll deal with that tomorrow. Let’s head back to the loft for now, get ourselves cleaned up.” Derek grimaces down at himself. He has blood and grime on his Henley and his jeans. They both need a shower and a fresh set of clothes.

     “How... how do you feel?” He asks Stiles. He needs to hear it one last time, to be sure.

     “I feel great, man. Complete. It’s so weird. I was SO against this. Afraid that it would change me, or that Void me would take over. But it’s not like that. I think this is was his endgame. I don’t feel him in my head. It’s just me, my emotions and thoughts. They feel a little different now, but it’s more so in a way that a major life event changes you. _I’m still me!”_ He lets out a shaky, relieved laugh. Derek smiles and relaxes. It’s a Stiles laugh, not a Void Stiles cackle.

     Derek knows he made the right choice.


	6. Chapter 6

     When they get to the loft, Stiles is a ball of energy. He can’t seem to sit still. It’s not just his normal ticks, though. Derek imagines that what he’s feeling is similar to the high that Derek’s wolf feels after making a kill. It’s a heady sort of feeling. You feel giddy and excited, confident and _strong._  It’s contagious, and Derek has to mentally scold his wolf to keep it in check.

     Derek lets him use the shower first, and does yet another load of laundry. He’s starting to feel like a housewife. Stiles bounds down the staircase ten minutes later, and Derek goes up behind him to scrub himself of the night’s activities. He’s in and out in five minutes, and heads back downstairs. Stiles is pacing back and forth, wringing his hands together. He looks up when he hears Derek and gives a giddy grin.

     “I can’t seem to settle. I just feel so... so _alive_ , as cliché as that sounds.” His hands are waving in the air to accentuate his words.

     Derek takes pity on him, and motions him forward. “Okay. Com’ere.”

     “What?” Stiles stills, narrowing his eyes and giving off a scent of suspicion.

     “Let’s spar. It’ll get the energy and adrenaline out of your system, and maybe you can fall asleep before midnight.”

     “Oh.” There’s no questioning, or hesitation. He immediately drops into a defensive position, eager to let off some steam. Derek catches that glint in his eye again. Before, he would have complained about going up against a werewolf. Now, he’s on board so fast that it makes Derek’s head spin. Void Stiles’ words echo in his head. _Release and fun_.

     “So?” Stiles asks, brow arched.

     Derek just shrugs. “No rules. Just come at me.”

     Stiles doesn’t delay, and that throws him off. He crouches low and lunges at Derek’s chest, grabbing him under the arms and barreling into him with his left shoulder. Derek stumbles backwards with the force of the impact, but manages to stay on his feet. He leans to his right to push Stiles’ left side with both arms, but Stiles has anticipated this, and slips to Derek’s left, circling behind him while still holding his chest, and hooks his right foot around Derek’s right ankle, pushing his weight into Derek’s back at the same time. Derek makes an embarrassing yelp of surprise as he crashes to the floor. Stiles had let go of him as he fell, so when he rolls on his back, huffing, Stiles is looming over him, breathing heavy and smiling like mad.

     It’s not as if Stiles has somehow magically developed fighting moves, but Derek can recognize the fact that he’s fighting and moving with complete confidence now. He’s prone to overthinking, and it’s always held him back in hand-to-hand combat. Derek also suspects that he’s afraid to hurt his opponent, even when it’s a werewolf who can heal. Derek’s always known he could _do_ the moves, but executing them was an entirely different thing.

     While he’s busy internally appraising Stiles’ new aplomb, Stiles has knelt down to straddle him, grabbed his wrists and forced them over his head. Derek could easily get out of this position, but he freezes, his mind going back to last night, as much as he tries not to let it. That wasn’t Stiles, not really. And they’re sparing. Derek’s not sure how this move will work in Stiles’ favor, but he’s willing to wait it out and see.

     Their chests press against each other with each deep breath they take, and Stiles is only inches from his face.

     “Give up?” He asks, a smug look on his face.

     “I- I’m-” Derek is lost for words. He can feel his face heating, and his wolf is struggling to take control. Stiles takes charge, pushing forward until their lips meet. It’s a hungry, bruising kiss. Derek moans into it,  and it’s only the fact that his wolf very nearly slips to the front that has him remembering himself. He pulls his wrists out of Stiles grip and pushes him back by his shoulders. “Stiles, this is just the rush of a kill you’re feeling. It’s... artificial. I don’t want you doing something you’re going to regret.” He’s being torn up on the inside, his wolf desperate to escape. _I want this,_ we _want this._

     He expects Stiles to blush, stand up, and back off. But he doesn’t. Instead, he places his hands on Derek’s chest and leans forward, resting his weight against Derek’s hands. “No, Derek. I _remember_.”

     The statement sends a shiver down his spin, and his wolf stops to focus on the words. “What?” It comes out a whisper.

     “When I melded, his memories became my memories. I remember everything he did. Everything _we_ did.”

     Derek gulps. Of course Stiles would gain access to the memories that had been suppressed, he was stupid not to consider it. Derek remembers the moment he melded. His soft ‘ _oh_ ’ and the way he had looked at Derek. At the time, he had assumed it was inflection. Now he’s realizing that it was Stiles’ reaction to remembering their short, heated moment the night before.

     “This-” Stiles motions between the two of them- “it isn’t me going after the closest thing on two legs. It’s me acting on feelings that I’ve felt for a while now. Feelings that I’ve tried to push down, to ignore. Well, I’m done pretending. If you don’t want this, that’s fine. But don’t say no because you think you’re protecting me.” The complete sense of confidence Stiles exudes is heady. Derek really does want nothing more than to explore these newfound feelings. But would it be a mistake? Stiles looks into his eyes and he feels bare under his gaze. “Derek, you’re overthinking things. Why don’t you let your wolf decide for you? Let your wolf take control.”

     His gaze bores deep into Derek, and he lightly digs his fingers into his chest. The sensation seems to go straight to Derek’s groin. If he were a better person, he would put a stop to this. But Stiles has made it clear that he’s thinking with a clear head, right? This is what Stiles wants. What it really comes down to is what Derek wants. He feels the wolf itching to take the lead. The wolf knows exactly what it wants.

     Fuck it.

     Derek lets go of Stiles’ shoulders to grab the sides of his face. He pulls Stiles down and their lips meet. His kiss is as greedy as Stiles’ was. He can feel his wolf surge to the front of his mind, and he loosens his control. He feels himself slip into a more basic, primal mindset. _Taste, mark, dominate._

     Derek moans into the kiss, and when his mouth opens, Stiles slides his tongue into his mouth. He moves one hand from Stiles’ face to twist his fingers in his hair, at the base of his neck. Stiles shamelessly grinds his hips down against Derek’s groin.

     With a growl, Derek lets go of his head to grab at his wrists and rolls, lips never parting, so that he’s on top. He holds Stiles’ wrists down by his head. Stiles responds by wrapping his legs firmly around him and digging his heels into Derek’s ass, pushing his hips up to meet him. Derek lets go of his wrists in favor of shoving his hands underneath the hem of Stiles’ shirt, and runs his fingers up and down the sides of his ribs. Stiles likes to wear baggy clothes, but he is all muscle underneath. He’s overcome with a need to taste his body.

     He rucks Stiles’ shirt up to his chest, and scoots down to place kisses, nips, and licks down his chest and abs. He sucks a few spots until little bruises form, and his wolf is deeply pleased with the sight. Stiles grabs Derek’s head with both hands and twists his fingers in his hair.

     “Fuck, Der.” Stiles says breathlessly, arching his body up to meet Derek’s mouth. Derek reaches the waistband of his sweatpants, and Stiles loosens his legs so he can tug them down. Stiles’ freed cock bounces up, and Derek catches it in his mouth before it has a chance to rest against his stomach. He swallows it down to the hilt. His wolf is too greedy, and they’re both past that point of foreplay. Stiles lets out a strangled cry and grips Derek’s hair to an almost painful point.

     Derek grips Stiles’ hips to control his movements, and doesn’t realize that he’s sprouted claws until he’s hit with the metallic tang of blood in the air. He yanks his hands away and lift his head, horrified.

     “Stiles, I’m sorry, I-“

     Stiles makes a frustrated noise and untangles his left hand from Derek’s hair. He grabs Derek’s hand and presses it back to his hip. His claws rest at the entrance of the shallow cuts, and Stiles gasps in a combination of pleasure and pain. Derek feels like he should want to stop, but he’s so turned on by the move that all he can do is marvel.

     With the other hand, he tugs at Derek’s hair, pulling his mouth back towards his hard cock.

     “Don’t _stop_ , Der. I like it.” His voice is strained, and Derek can see large vein sticking out and throbbing on his neck. He’s surprised by how Stiles has taken charge of the situation, by how he _wants_ to be handled roughly. Derek’s head is too clouded with arousal to ponder the new information, and if Stiles doesn’t care, his wolf thinks that it doesn’t matter much, either.

     He sinks his claws into the moon-shaped cuts and sucks Stiles back into his mouth at the same time. Stiles moans and it’s the most obscene, maddening thing Derek has ever heard. With his other hand, he shoves his own bottoms down, freeing his aching dick. He plucks his lips off of Stiles cock long enough to lick a long wet strip up his palm, then quickly continues to suck him off. He wraps his hand around his throbbing dick, and jacks himself, hips pumping himself into his palm erratically.

     Stiles is the first to come, _loudly_ , with a throaty yell that breaks at the end. He snaps his hips up, and Derek’s claws fall from the punctures. The taste of Stiles spilling into his mouth is the tipping point for Derek, and he comes with a drawn-out groan.

     Stiles scrabbles at Derek’s shirt, pulling him back up his body to kiss him. Derek is still spurting cum, and the friction of their two cocks running together has him grinding against Stiles, slick and sticky and delicious. This kiss is more languid, slow and lazy. He’s licking his own cum off of Derek’s tongue, and it’s so fucking hot that he can barely contain his wolf. He growls and bucks one last time against Stiles, before the trend ion leaves his body and they’re left in the afterglow.

     Stiles lets his head fall backwards, and Derek collapses onto his chest, their breath sounding harsh and loud in the empty space of the loft.

     “Wow.” Stiles says with a shaky laugh. “That was... Wow.”

     Now that they’re done, Derek’s wolf has contently receded to a corner in his head.  As his human side regains full control, guilt and doubt slowly starts to seep in, souring the moment. He pushes up off of Stiles, tucks himself back into his pants and sits up next to him. Stiles follows suit.

     “Talk to me, Derek.” Stiles rests a hand on his knee. It’s not done in a possessive or sensual manner. It’s reassuring.

     “When we... You called me ‘Der’. You’ve only ever called me that when- you’re you, right?” He looks into Stiles eyes, trying do discern whether it was really him or not. He could have just fucked up royally. His stomach churns.

     “Yeah, man. It’s me. There’s only me now. I can feel it. What we just did? Is all me.” He frowns and chews his cheek. “But I think that some of his mannerisms are a part of me now, too? I mean, I guess it always was a part of me. I know all of the thoughts he had now, and he liked to think of himself as me with no inhibition. I sort of feel like I slip into his personality a little, when I killed Howard, and just now. but it feels _good_ , man. And I don’t feel like I’m losing control.” He gets up, and rolls his head back and to the side. “If you regret doing this, whatever. I won’t hold it against you. But I enjoyed it, and I’m not going to regret it, or feel guilty about it.”

     Derek stands up and is quick to squash that line of thought. “No! It’s not like that. I... I liked it to. A lot. I just felt like maybe I took advantage of the situation. I don’t want it to be like that.”

     Stiles snorts. “Dude, if anyone took advantage of the situation, it was most definitely me. On the bright side, I’ve definitely burned off my pent-up energy. I’m gonna head to bed.” He walks past the couch, and over to the stairs. Derek just stares after him. Stiles pays no attention, and goes up the stairs without hesitation, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. He hears him walk down the hall, into the bedroom, and then to the bathroom.

     Derek’s completely thrown off. There’s a bathroom down here that he could have used. The master bathroom is just the only shower in the loft. But he can hear him now, and he’s just using the sink. Does he intend on sleeping in Derek’s bed? The prospect is both extremely alluring and worrying. After all, he was only made consciously aware of his feeling for Stiles in the last 24 hours.

     He looks down at his crotch, where he can still see the sticky mess they made. His nose flares and his eyes burn red when he catches their scents intermingled. His wolf knows exactly what it wants, and yearns to crawl into the bed next to him. Derek gives a mental _down boy_ , and climbs the stairs.

     Stiles is already in the bed, wriggling to get comfortable. “Dude. These sheets, they’re amazing.”

     “Yeah... uh, I’m just going to wash up.” He says, not sure what to do with his hands. He waves them in a way not unlike Stiles would do, and then drops them by his side when he realizes what he’s doing. He actually bumps into his dresser on the way to the bathroom. _Seriously_. He’s like a virgin on prom night. He hears Stiles stifle a snort behind him, and he’s thankful that the light isn’t on, because he can feel his neck and cheeks heating up.

     Once he’s done in the bathroom (and he’s resolved not to make this awkward), he walks over to the bed. Stiles is on the far side, with his back turned to Derek. He isn’t quite asleep, but he’s getting there. His heart rate is steady and his breathing is even.

     Derek gingerly climbs under the sheets and lays down on his back, arms straight at his sides. After a few moments, Stiles rocks himself back and forth, and says, “ _spoon_ me, you potato.”

     Derek is caught off-guard for about the tenth time that night, andcatches the surprised chuckle right before it leaves his throat. He rolls to his side and apprehensively slings an arm over Stiles. Stiles immediately shuffles backwards to press flush against Derek’s body. He lifts his head and pillow and holds it, and it takes Derek a second to realize he’s supposed to put his arm under the pillow. Once he does, Stiles wriggles once more to get comfortable, and then lets out a contented sigh.

     “‘Night, Sourwolf.”

     Derek can’t stop himself from nuzzling his face into Stiles hair. He breathes deeply and holds the scent of Stiles in his nose. His wolf rumbles deeply in his chest.

     “Goodnight, Stiles.”

     It’s the best sleep either of them has gotten in weeks.


	7. Chapter 7

     After that first night, Derek and Stiles keep the making out and sex strictly to the bedroom if they do it in the loft. It’s the only part of the loft that’s off-limits to the pack. And Derek’s has to buy  _ four _ new sets of sheets because of him. They quickly learn that Stiles is a bit of a sadomasochist. He loves it when Derek is rough, and Derek loves it even more when Stiles is. Derek tries to steer it more onto himself, because he can heal. He’s also finding that he likes it a lot more than he ever thought he would. Stiles isn’t one for props, and instead prefers to use his teeth and nails. Derek is  _ so  _ on board. 

     He’s never found pleasure in pain. Kate had tried that shit with him, but it never turned him on like it did with him. With Stiles, it was a whole different ball game. Where Kate would do it sadistically, Stiles does it with a sense of awe. He loves digging his nails into Derek’s chest, only to watch the cuts to knit themselves back together seconds later. He pushes Derek to do the same to him, but Derek is more apprehensive. Stiles can’t heal like he can, and there’s also only so many places you can place a love bite without drawing attention to it. 

     The next month flies by. Stiles isn’t quite ready to divulge their relationship to anyone just yet, and Derek wholeheartedly agrees. And not just because Stiles isn’t eighteen for two more months (Although, the Sheriff still scares Derek more than he’s willing to admit.). This is something they’re doing, just the two of them, without the want or need of outside influence.

     Derek also suspects that the deciding factor for Stiles is that he doesn’t want the pack privy to his his soul being split and the retwined. So for now, they’re keeping it a secret. It’s hard though, with the pack’s heightened abilities of scent. Derek would thought it would be an issue when they’re all together at pack meetings, that Stiles’ chemosignals would give them away, but he’s surprised by the control he can exhibit over his body. Even when he’s catching Derek’s eye with a quick wink, his scent never changes, and his heart remains steady. It would be unnerving if Derek didn’t find it so fucking hot.

     His wolf is frustrated that Stiles scrubs himself clean of Derek’s scent before he leaves whenever they’re together, and even his more reasonable side is left with a sour taste. There’s always a lingering smell on Stiles, but the pack must chalk it up to normal alpha/beta scenting. Peter looks like he’s picking up the subtle differences in Stiles’ scent aura, but he doesn’t say anything. 

     Deaton is pleased with the outcome, and leaves it at that. Stiles has sworn him to secrecy, which he agrees to with ease. The pack notices that something’s different in the way that Stiles behaves, but none of them can quite place their finger on it. For the most part, he’s still the Stiles they all know. There’s an air of poise to him now though, that commands respect. Their wolves react to it without them even realizing. Giving him first choice when the pizza comes (something they don’t even do for Derek), pausing to hear his input, offering to help him with mundane tasks. It would probably get on his wolf’s nerves if it wasn’t so pleased with Stiles.

     One day, Derek is out jogging with Scott, when Scott mentions that he thinks Stiles has a secret girlfriend. Derek nearly trips.

     “Oh?” He says, feigning nonchalance.

     “Yeah. Have you seen how he’s been acting lately? Not that it’s a bad change. But he’s different, somehow. I think it’s because he’s getting laid.” Scott throws a sideways grin to Derek. “I wish he’d fess up though. I can’t for the life of me catch her scent off of him. It makes me think maybe he’s hiding her on purpose. Probably trying to keep her out of this whole supernatural mess.”

     “Yeah,” Derek agrees, keeping his voice even. “Good for him.”

     Scott laughs. “Whoever it is, she’s a freak. I saw his back when he was changing for lacrosse the other day; there are scratches  and hickeys  _ all _ up and down his body. And you’ve seen the nail marks on his hips. Not sure how she manages those.”

     Derek is glad that the flush from running hides his blush. Stiles has taken to purposely stretching his arms above his head, letting his shirt ride up to show off his crescent-moon shaped cuts on his hips when pack is around. It takes all of Derek’s self control not to react. And the little shit knows it. It makes for amazing, overly-possessive sex when everyone leaves. 

     “But I’m happy for him.” Scott continues, a soft smile on his lips. Derek makes a noise of agreement and leaves it at that. 

     - - -

     One afternoon, Stiles is over at the loft, doing homework at the kitchen island while Derek gets some paperwork done. Stiles seems unusually unfocused though. Well, it wouldn’t have been unusual a month ago, but his focus has improved greatly in the past month, and the ticks are down to a minimum. 

     Except for today. It’s slowly getting on Derek’s nerves. First, he’s beating the eraser of his pencil against the table. Then, he’s jiggling his leg, causing the stool he’s sitting in to squeak. After that, he’s clicking his tongue. Derek snaps.

     “Stiles!” He barks.

     “Huh?” Stiles whips around so fast that he nearly falls off the stool. “What?”

     “What’s going on? You’re restless, and it’s getting on my nerves.”

     “Oh?” Stiles says. Does he really not realize how much he moves around? “I uh, I don’t know. I’ve been feeling like I have this pent-up energy the last few days. I can’t seem to get rid of it. I did an extra hour of practice yesterday, and then we had that-“ he holds his hands by his head, makes an explosion noise and moves his hands away- “ _ mind-blowing _ sex last night, and I still can’t seem to shake it. I just feel like I need to, I don’t know... it’s not really something I’ve ever felt before? Like I want to crawl out of my skin.”

     The feeling might be new to Stiles, but Derek knows it well. He knows exactly what that feeling is. “It’s the same way I feel, when I haven’t let the wolf free in a while. I think it might be time to find our next big bad.”

     Stiles perks up. His scent gives off anticipation mixed with hunger. “Yeah? Yeah. Didn’t really think of that. I guess that’s something I need to work, listening to myself. I  _ have _ been feeling slightly more… blood-lusty?”

     Derek rolls his eyes, “Yeah, last night my back noticed.” The scratches that Stiles has dug into his shoulders had taken almost a full minute to heal.

     Stiles gave him a mischievous smile. “Oh, settle. You healed just fine.”

     So they spend the rest of the afternoon looking up crimes in and around Beacon Hills. Derek is surprised that he doesn’t find it strange, or off-putting. It’s almost like he’s fulfilling that childhood fantasy of vigilantism, and he gets to do it with a partner, which is even better. His wolf is excited at the prospect to watch Stiles dispatch someone again.

     It takes them another week to find a suitable candidate. And just in time, too. Stiles has spiraled into a  _ very _ grumpy, aggressive person, teetering more towards his Void self than Derek would like to see. It comes to a head Friday night, when the pack is together for their biweekly meetup.

     They’re out at his old house, using the large back yard. It’s at least five miles from any other houses, and far enough out of the way that they can freely wolf out without fear of being seen. They’d hear anyone far before said person could glimpse them. Derek has them practicing their fighting skills, which is usually a great way for Stiles to blow off some steam. He’s pushing too hard this evening though. He’s been paired with Scott, who never gives it his all when he’s sparring with Stiles, afraid to hurt him. Stiles is losing his patience, and Derek can tell. He doesn’t know how to reign him in without tipping the others off.

     Stiles breaks apart from grappling with Scott with an angry noise. “Come on, man!  _ Fight _ me. A real bad guy isn’t going to give a flying fuck if I break a nail. Give me some actual shit to work with.”

     Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Lydia stop their sparring to watch. Peter, who was supposed to be sparing with Derek, but instead is leaning against a tree, perks up.

     “Stiles, I don’t want to hurt you.” Scott says, and it’s almost a whine.

     “You’re not going to fucking hurt me, not if you’re fighting like a pussy,” Stiles throws back. Scott’s eyes open wide, and he looks hurt by Stiles words.

     “Stiles, why don’t you and I spar?” Derek suggests, trying to diffuse the situation.

     “I’m sparring with Scotty right now, Der.” The look he gives Derek is one that an alpha would give his subordinate. Derek stand up a little straighter and clenches his jaw, but doesn’t say anything. He hears a quiet  _ hmm. _ Turns to look at Peter, who’s no longer leaning against the tree, but standing straight and looking at Stiles with an appraising eye. Of course he would be the only one to properly pick up on the blatant challenge, being a born wolf raised in a pack. Derek narrows his eyes at Peter, who just stares back at him with that shit-eating, toothy side grin that he absolutely loathes.

     “Scott.  _ Fight _ .  _ Me _ . Give me something to actually work with.”

     “Okay, dude. But you asked for it.” Scott doesn’t sound as resolved as the words he speaks should sound.

     Stiles takes a deep breath, and rolls his neck back and to the left, then to the right. Derek can see the markers that Stiles’ darker side has come out to play. He feels powerless, and can’t do anything but stand there and wait for the fall out.

     Stiles lets Scott initiate the fight. Scott steps forward, in a hunched stance, arms and hands out at his sides. He lunges forward to grab his midsection, and Stiles steps to his right at the last second. As Scott goes past him, Stiles snaps his right elbow backwards into the back of Scott’s head. As Scott falls to the ground, Stiles follows through the movement by twisting around to face Scott, and kneels down with his right leg to grind his knee into Scott’s spine. Scott reaches back with his left arm to try and dislodge his knee, which is actually a spectacularly  _ stupid _ move. Stiles grabs his forearm with his right hand, his elbow with his left hand, and Derek is already moving in to stop Stiles, because he knows exactly what he's going to do. 

     He’s not quick enough though, and Stiles forces Scott’s arm straight up behind him. There’s a sickening pop, and Derek can actually hear the muscle and tendons tearing. Scott’s roar is mixed with a shriek of pain. Derek grabs Stiles by the back of his shirt and yanks him away as the others rush to Scott. His arm is at a severely  _ wrong _ angle, and he’s writhing in pain, fangs popped and eyes glowing yellow. 

     “What the  _ fuck,  _ Stiles?” Erica says angrily from where she’s kneeling besides Scott. Boyd is grimacing as he resets the arm, and Scott screams a second time.

     “He’ll heal within the minute. I bet he won’t leave his arm unguarded like that again.” Stiles huffs.

     “How did you even do that?” Lydia asks, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

     “Adrenaline.” Stiles says in a rude tone with a shrug. “Endorphins. Neuropeptides. Boredom.” There’s not exactly a smile on his face, but Derek can see the sick pleasure in his features, underneath the anger that he’s feeling.

     Stiles tugs himself out of Derek’s hold. He storms into the woods, and Peter makes to follow him. Derek gives a warning growl, and when Peter stops to turn and look at him, Derek’s eyes flash red. Peter sneers But makes no further movements to follow.

     “We’re done for the day,” Derek snarls, marching after Stiles. He makes no move to stop Stiles,just follows him form a ten-yard distance. Stiles leads him to the cellar door. Derek stops twenty feet from him. Stiles looks up and stares him square in the eyes for a solid ten seconds, then lifts the door and heads down the stairs, leaving the door open. Derek looks back towards the clearing, sees that none of the pack followed, and heads down after Stiles, closing the door behind himself, locking them in near-darkness. 

     When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, Stiles rushes him and he’s shoved against a wall. Stiles immediately locks their lips together. Derek relaxes into the kiss, lets Stiles take the lead. He knows he needs it.

     Stiles’ kisses are frenzied. Bruising. Unforgiving. He shoves his hands down the back of Derek’s gym shorts and digs his nails into the soft flesh of Derek’s ass. Derek responds by burying both hands in his hair and opens his mouth to allow Stiles’ tongue to slip in. Stiles presses a thigh in between Derek’s legs, and he shamelessly ruts against it. Then Stiles pulls his lips away, and falls to his knees without warning, taking Derek’s shorts with him.

     He pushes up Derek’s shirt and licks a long strip up his cock, from base to tip. Then he takes it into his mouth. He moans and the vibrations go right to Derek’s cock. It’s maddening how good it feels. Derek can hear him rooting in his pocket with one hand, and looks down to see him uncapping a bottle of lube. He had that on him the whole time? Jesus. It could have fallen out of his pocket during training. The though only serves to arouse Derek further.

     Stiles slides two wet fingers up Derek’s crack and presses them against his hole. Derek groans and tries not to buck deep into Stiles’ mouth. He continues to blow him with a hand at the base of his cock, while the other one works him open.

     Being bottom isn’t new. He’s bottomed a few times for Stiles in the past month, and found that he rather enjoys it. Stiles wasn’t his first man, but he  _ was _ the first man he’d ever bottomed for. He was apprehensive at first, but Stiles was so eager to try something new, and he’d already bottomed for Derek several times, that Derek decided  _ what the hell, you only live once _ . It had been an amazing experience. He loved bottoming as much as he loved topping. He loved any kind of sex really, as long as it was with Stiles.

     Stiles gives Derek one last, hard suck, then stands up and grips Derek’s hips, spinning him around. Derek braces his hands against the wall and jiggles a foot out his shorts so he can spread his legs wider. Stiles runs a hand up and down his spine while he pulls himself out of his gym shorts and slicks up his dick with the other. then he lines himself up and with a single thrust, buries himself to the hilt.

     Derek has to clamp his teeth around the roar that bubbles up his throat, in case the rest of the pack is still at the clearing. Stiles wastes no time, immediately falling into a hard, punishing pace. Derek grabs his cock and jerks himself off, knowing that neither him nor Stiles is going to last long.

     “Fuck. Stiles.  _ Yes _ .” It comes out punctuate with each thrust. He pushes back to meet every one, and it’s a delicious mix of pleasure and pain. Stiles leans forward and bites down on Derek’s shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, and it sends Derek over the edge, cum spilling from him to paint the floor below. Stiles keeps his teeth sunk in Derek’s shoulder and thrusts forward one last time, burying himself and coming, his hips hitching.

     Stiles unlatches from Derek’s shoulder, and licks the wound, even as it closes. Derek shudders as his body heals and the pain/pleasure balanced is tipped back to pleasure. He loves that part.

     When their breathy steadies and their hearts stop pounding, Stiles pulls out of him and pulls his pants back up. “Derek, I’m sorry. About earlier.”

     Derek puts his own shorts back on. “It’s okay. We’re still learning how to do this. I think we’ve waited too long, and it’s getting to you.” He captures Stiles’ face in his hands and looks him in the eye. “If we’re going to do this right, I need full honesty from you. I need to know what’s going on in here.” He taps his thumb against Stiles’ temple. “We can do this, it’ll just take some finessing.”

     He pulls Stiles forward into a relaxed kiss. Then he lets him go, laces their fingers together, and pulls him towards the stairs. “Come on. We’ve got a perp to kill. Tonight.”


	8. Chapter 8

     They’ve parked the Camaro three blocks away in an alley, and they’re sitting at a cafe across the street from Daniel Miller’s apartment building. They’re two towns over, where there have been six armed home robberies in the last four months. The last one resulted in a six-year-old girl being shot, and she later died in the hospital. The statement that Stiles read on his dad’s work laptop said that when the father confronted the thief, he shot the child as a distraction to get away. Their four-year-old son had witnessed the entire thing.

     It had been easy enough for Derek to track him. All he had to do was go to the house where he’d broken into, and sniff around. The dumbass had cut himself on the glass he’d broken to open the back door, and even though it was a week old, it still carried the slightest of scents. After that, it was just a matter of walking around town until he caught the scent again. 

     They don’t have much of a plan outside of a snatch-and-grab, but Stiles can’t wait anymore. He suggested stabbing him to death in the middle of the street, making it look like a mugging gone wrong, but then decided that it wasn’t ‘intimate’ enough. 

     They chat over coffee while they wait for him to leave his building. 

     “You know, this is technically the first date we’ve had.” Stiles says, leaning back in his chair and nudging his foot against Derek’s. They never would have risked being seen out together in Beacon Hills, but this was a twenty-minute drive away, and Derek figured that even if they were seen, sharing a cup of coffee isn’t incriminating. It’s known that they run in the same circle. 

     “You consider this a date? We’re staking someone out.” A smile tugs at the side of his mouth though. 

     “But it has romantic flair, no?” Stiles does a ridiculous thing with his eyebrows that makes Derek snort and coffee dribbles out of his mouth. Stiles laughs a loud, “HA!” at that, and Derek shoots daggers at him while he wipes his chin off.

     “Hey, hey, hey,” Stiles sits up straight, and a predatory look crosses his features. It does all sorts of things to Derek. “Is that Miller?” 

     Derek looks over, and sure enough, there he is. He’s wearing black pants, a black hoodie drawn up over his head, and his hands are shoved in the wide front pocket. there’s a blatant, gun-shaped bulge in it. Seriously, it’s a miracle that they haven’t caught the guy yet. He might as well have a neon flashing sign above his head.

     They get up and leave the cafe, following Miller at a distance. Conveniently, they’re heading right towards the alley that Derek parked the Camaro in. 

     “He’s got a gun.” Derek murmured to Stiles, keeping his eyes trained on Miller’s back.

     “I know.” Stiles replied. “He’s probably going to hit another house. Oooor...” He lets the sentence hang. 

     Derek is immediately set on edge. “What?” he growls. 

     “I’m gonna let him mug me. Be my back-up!” And he runs forward before Derek can stop him. 

     “ _ Stiles _ !” Derek whisper-yells, But it’s no use. Stiles does whatever the fuck Stiles wants these days. Derek increases his speed to catch up to them, but keeps his distance. He doesn’t want to spook Miller into using his gun. Stiles has run up next to Miller,  breathlessly asking to use his phone.

     “...dropped mine down a storm drain,” he’s saying with a goofy grin, arms flailing out. 

     “Fuck off, man. Ain’t got my phone on me.” 

     “Yeah, Yeah. I get it. Don’t want to let the weird stranger use your phone. What if I pay you? My car is right here!” He walks down the alley, and once Miller turns to see the car, he follows Stiles with a dark grin on his face. Derek is still twenty feet away, and increases his speed as fast he can without drawing attention to himself.

     When he turns the corner, Miller’s back is to him, and he’s pointing the gun at Stiles, who’s against the car with his hands up on the air.

     “KEYS!” Miller yells.

     “Yeah, sure thing buddy. He’s got them.” He points to Derek, and Miller turns just in time to get a fist to the face. He hits the pavement hard, and doesn’t move. Stiles pulls his hoodie sleeve over his hand and picks up the gun. “We’ll need to dump this with the body so they know he’s the guy who killed that girl.”

     Then he crouches next to Miller, produces a small vial from his jacket pocket, unscrews the top, and pinches Miller’s mouth to open it. He uses the dropper in the cap to put a single drop of clear liquid in his mouth.

     “What’s that?” Derek asks curiously.

     “Kanima venom. Kifed it from Deaton.” Stiles says with a mischievous grin, and then scowls. “Although, once I run out of this, I’ll need to talk him into ordering etorphine. But I like this better. Keeps ‘em still, but alert.”

     “You  _ stole _ from Deaton? And he didn’t catch you?” Derek shakes his head in awe. “You are truly something else. Although, I doubt he’s going to be in any mood to help you, once he finds out.”

     Stiles’ grin widens. “Living in the moment! Shall we?” They pick Miller up, toss him in the trunk, and head out. There’s an old access road about a mile out of town that looks like it hasn’t been used in a very long time. They pre-planned to go there. There’s no houses for at least a half-mile in any direction, and the air didn't have any lingering human scents. It’s far enough from anything that Derek will easily be able hear anyone long before they’re seen. 

     When they park deep in the woods, Derek opens the trunk to grab Miller. He’s awake, and his eyes are wide. 

     “I can’t move! What the fuck did you do to me?!” His words are thick and slightly slurred. His eyes dart back and forth. It’s dark out, but Derek left the headlights on. Stiles is leaning against the hood. He hoists him out of the trunk, and dumps him a good six feet in front of Stiles. Miller grunts as the air is knocked from his lungs. It’s a satisfying noise. 

     Derek picks him up by his biceps and pulls him to his knees, positioning him it the same way he did Howard. He’s groaning and squinting against the bright headlights. 

     Stiles pushes himself away from the car with his hip, and is twisting the tip of the Bowie blade into the pad of his forefinger, just like last time. The look in his eyes is all Void Stiles. 

     Even though this is for Stiles, a shiver of thrill runs down his spine, and he can feel his nails extend and prick into Miller’s skin. Miller gasps and makes a small noise. “What the fuck is this? Who are you guys?!”

     “Daniel Miller.” Stiles says. His voice is steady, and has almost a seductive quality to it. “Clara Evans.” 

     Miller’s breath comes out quicker, and his heart goes into overdrive. 

     “That- that was an accident! I just needed money, man. My mom- she’s really sick!” Derek can feel his muscles twitching slightly, but he would be dispatched long before the venom fully wore off. 

     “I highly doubt that,” Derek says, jerking Miller’s arms back, causing him to cry out. “I can smell the cocaine on you. You killed Clara because you needed money for your next high.” He leans down to Miller ear. “ _ She _ doesn’t get to live because you’re a piece of shit. Her parents had to bury their daughter. Her little brother had to bury his big sister!” The last part comes out as a roar. He digs his claws in deep, and Miller screams. 

     “Derek.” Stiles says. Derek looks up, red eyes ignited. The rage in him dies down when he remembers why they’re here. Right. This is about Stiles, not him. He clears his throat and stands straight. 

     “Sorry, I... He’s all yours.”

     Stiles cocks his head to the side and gives Derek an appraising look. Derek feels bare under his gaze. Miller is crying and muttering to himself pathetically.

     Stiles walks close enough to reach out and cups Derek’s jaw, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip. He groans and pushes into the touch. 

     Derek lets go of Miller, and Stiles shoves him aside. He lets out a yelp, but they both ignore it. Stiles steps over Miller, pulls Derek flush against him, and gives him a deep kiss. It’s not their normal hungry pace. This one has emotion poured into it. This is a kiss that people who really care for each other share. A kiss that people who  _ love _ each other share. 

     Derek gasps with the realization. He loves Stiles. This isn’t just a fun thing, or a way to release stress. He is so completely, totally Stiles’. 

     He pulls away to look at Stiles with wide eyes. “I love you.” He blurts.

     “God, Der. I love you too.” There’s a look of wonder in Stiles’ eyes, like maybe he only just came to the same realization. 

     “Fucking faggots.” Miller spits from the ground, where the Kanima venom has dissipated enough for him to twist his head towards them. Stiles steps backwards without looking, and grinds the heel of his shoe into Miller fingers. Anything else Miller was about to say is lost in favor of screaming.

     “You do it.”  Stiles says, still looking Derek in the eyes and holding him close. 

     “Me? This is for you. You need this.”

     “Nah.” Stiles shrugs. “Being complicit is enough to get me by.”

     Derek hesitates, but his wolf wants so badly to end this man. He thinks of Kate, who burned nearly his whole family to the ground, and how her actions led to Peter murdering his sister, whom at the time he thought was his last surviving family member. Burying Laura had been one of the hardest things he had done in his life. 

     Resolved, he gives a single, sharp nod. Stiles steps back to lean against the hood, and Derek rounds on Miller. He nudges him with the toe of his shoe, until he’s on his back. 

     Miller glares at him through his grimace. “Fuck you.”

     Derek doesn’t respond. He kneels to one knee, and grabs him by the throat. His eyes shine red. Miller eyes go wide and his face drains of color. He lets his claws slowly extend, puncturing the flesh and digging in deep. Miller is screaming, and they slowly go gurgly and quiet. All that comes out after a raspy, whisper of a scream. Derek squeezes, and lifts him in the air until his feet dangle, jerking uselessly. Blood trails down Derek’s arm and pools in the fabric of his shirt. 

     He squeezes harder, then snaps his arm forward and back in a sharp movement. Miller’s throat is ripped from his body, and he falls to the ground, sputtering and violently seizing. Derek looks at the lump of savaged meat in his hand, and then tosses it into the woods. 

     The scent of arousal hits him strong, and he flares his nostrils. He looks over at Stiles, standing in front of the car, pupils blown and chest rapidly rising and falling. 

     There’s an obvious bulge in his jeans. 

     With a rumble deep in his chest, he rushes at Stiles, knocking him back against the hood of the Camaro and boxing him in with his arms. 

     This kiss is more what they’re used to. Ravenous and bruising. Derek doesn’t even realize that his face had wolfed out until now. It’s a moot point, because there’s no way he’ll be able to maintain the focus or control necessary to reign it in. Besides, Stiles doesn’t seem to care.

     Derek pushes forward, and Stiles leans back. He grabs Derek’s biceps, and lifts his legs to wrap them around his hips. He moans and pushes his hips up against Derek’s, causing friction that is equal parts amazing and unfulfilling. 

     Derek reaches underneath Stiles, and hooks his still-clawed hand into the waistband of his jeans. He uses those claws to rip a chunk of the fabric, and then pulls down, making two long tears, creating a flap that run down and around his ass. Stiles has released his right bicep, and is digging though his pocket. He pulls out a travel-sized tube of lube. 

     “You’re incorrigible.” Derek slurs around his wolf teeth, but holds out his left hand - the one not covered in blood - for Stiles to squirt some on. He was to pause momentarily to retract his claws. Then he’s sinking two fingers into Stiles and pumping them at a brutal pace. He’s a little rougher than he means to be, but his wolf is chomping at the bit to sink himself in Stiles. Stiles is completely on board though, and arches into his chest. 

     “Fuck, Der.  _ Yes.”  _ Stiles captures his mouth with his own again, running his tongue along Derek’s fangs. It drives Derek crazy. Having a partner that so completely accepts him. He’s never wolfed out during sex before. Or at least, never let the other person see. Stiles not only accepts it, he likes it. His wolf recognizes it and is overjoyed. 

     While he’s working Stiles open, Stiles is working on opening his pants. He fumbles with the button and zipper. As soon as he’s done, he’s pulling Derek’s cock out of his pants and rubbing lube up and down him. Derek pulls his fingers out of Stiles and they’re quickly replaced with his cock, immediately burying himself to the hilt. He sets a punishing pace, and Stiles is completely receptive. His nails are digging into Derek’s biceps to the point of drawing blood.

     It doesn’t take long for Derek’s thrusts to become stuttered. His wolf surges forward in his mind, taking control. Derek grabs Stiles’ hair with the hand covered in blood and pulls his head to the side. He clamps down his neck, just below his ear, and gives one final, hard thrust. Stiles lets out a cry and Derek issues a low, throaty growl that rumbles in his chest. They both come at the same time- Derek deep in Stiles, and Stiles still trapped in his jeans. 

     They stay like that for a few long seconds, chests heaving, and then Derek carefully unclenches his jaw. He hasn’t broken the skin, but there’s deep indents, and the skin is already swollen and red. 

     They can pass for a dog bite to the layman, but anyone who knows about werewolves will see them for what they are. Shit. They’d been so careful up until this point, but there’s no hiding those. Still, Derek can’t quite find it in himself to feel guilty. His wolf preens at the mark.

_      My mark. My Stiles. MINE. _

     Derek pulls out, getting himself situated, and Stiles slowly sits up with a wince. “Dude, remind me to never have sex on the hood of a car again. That was some of the best and worst sex I’ve ever had. Ow.” His legs are still loosely wrapped around Derek’s calves, locking him in place. 

     Derek just looks at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

     “What’s wrong?” Stiles says, frowning at his expression. 

     “Your neck,” Derek motions towards it. “I bit you.”

     “Yeah, But you didn’t break the skin. Or did you?” Panic seeps into his voice and his eyebrows shoot up. His hand flies to his neck, prodding the bruising skin.

     “No! No, of course I didn’t. It’s just... it’s noticeable. Even Isaac’s scarves couldn’t cover it.” Derek can’t bring himself to say sorry, it would be a lie, but he does feel abashed. 

     “We just confessed our love for each other. I’d say it’s about time to go public anyways.”

     “You don’t turn eighteen for another month. Your dad will have me arrested.”

     “My dad,” Stiles starts with a lecturing tone. “... Okay, yeah. He would probably arrest you. You’re right. So instead, we let the pack wonder. All any of them will really know is that I’ve found myself a hot werewolf to bang. No one will know who that hot werewolf is.”

     “How do they know the werewolf is hot?” Derek says sarcastically. 

     “Uh, hello? Have you seen me? Only total hotness could bag these goodies.” 

     Derek throws his head back and laughs. He feels so happy, so carefree, so full, and it’s all because of Stiles. Who loves him.

     Derek steps back and Stiles slides off the hood. He turns to look down at his ass and grimaces. “Dude. You owe me a new pair of jeans, you total caveman.” Derek bites his lips, trying and failing to hide the grin that’s spreading on his face. “It’s not funny! I have an ass flap. Ugh. And the front of my jeans are disgustingly sticky. I’m commandeering your emergency sweats.”

     He goes to the trunk and tosses a bottle of water at Derek. 

     “Might wanna clean some of that blood off the car. And you.”

     Derek casts a glance at the hood. There’s bloody hand prints and smears. He wipes down the hood as best he can, and then pours some on himself as well. A thought occurs to him. 

     “Our DNA is kind of all over the place. And we can’t really move him, without getting more blood in the car.” He’s chewing his lip. He didn’t plan this very well at all. Then again, he didn’t plan on pinning Stiles to the car and fucking him either. 

     “Oh, that’s not an issue. I switched out our police information weeks ago, after Howard. My fingerprints and DNA on file are actually my elderly neighbor’s. Your fingerprints, I deleted from the database entirely, and your DNA doesn’t test properly. It’ll always come back as contaminated, so they can’t trace it back to you.” Stiles says this offhandedly with a shrug while he’s putting on the sweats, like he isn’t some sort of fucking genius.

     Derek stands there like an idiot, gaping at Stiles. When Stiles doesn’t hear him respond, he looks up at him, one leg part way in a pant leg. “What?”

     Derek stalks forward and crowds him against the Camaro once again. He burrows his face in Stiles’ neck, licking and nipping his skin. “Round two.  _ You’re _ fucking  _ me.” _


	9. Chapter 9

     It’s nearly 1am when Derek drops Stiles off two blocks from his house. They share a heated kiss, and Derek has to break away before it turns into something more. He’s stupid in love with Stiles, as he realized tonight, but not stupid enough to fuck him two blocks from his home, when the sheriff regularly drives through the neighborhood during rounds.

     After he watches Stiles walk down the road and go inside - not before turning and waving at Derek’s car though, and Derek had blushed at being caught seeing that Stiles made it inside safely - he heads home. When he gets off the elevator at the top floor, Peter is waiting by his door, leaned up against the wall with an air of nonchalance. He must have used the stairs, because the elevator didn’t carry his scent. 

     “What do you want?” Derek growls, shouldering past him to unlock the door. He’s not happy to be side blinded by his least favorite uncle. All he wants to do is take a hot shower, bask in the fact that Stiles  _ loves  _ him, and go to bed. He’s aware that he smells heavily Stiles, and hopes that Peter doesn’t notice. 

     “What, I can’t visit my favorite - well, only living - nephew?”

     Derek ignores the jibe. He’s not going to let Peter ruin what’s been a great fucking night. He hasn’t felt so complete since before the fire, and he intends on riding this high as long as he can. He turns to block the entrance of the loft before Peter can follow him through. 

     “I’m tired, Peter, and I’m not in the mood for your games. Spit it out.”

     “Fine,” Peter pouts, sounding disappointed that he doesn’t get to draw out whatever shocking revelation he’s planned. “I just wanted to know what you and Stiles are up to.” He says simply.

     He’s feigning disinterest, but Derek can smell a spike of wicked smugness that comes with the words. His heart skips a beat, and he can see the glee bloom in Peter’s features, who’s picked up on it immediately. 

     Derek decides to play stupid anyways. He’s not going to freely give out information. He crosses his arms and fixes his stance in a show of dominance. 

_      What?” _ He scolds Peter, who doesn’t look the least bit abashed. Of course. 

     “Well, after our training yesterday, I  _ may  _ have gone back and followed your scents to the old tunnel entrance. And what I smelled down there…  _ tsk tsk tsk.” _

     Derek snaps. He shoves Peter up against the wall and lodges his forearm against his neck, eyes burning red. Peter gasps for air, trying to laugh, play his part, but it sounds choked and garbled. His feet dangle a few inches from the floor. 

     “Choose. Your. Next. Words. Wisely.” Derek grits through his popped fangs. 

     Peter has stopped trying to laugh, and he’s patting on Derek’s arm, eyes bugging. Derek holds him there three more seconds, for good measure, and then releases him. He drops, hands on his knees, gasping ragged breaths. They wait for his larynx to repair itself. After a good two minute, he clears his throat and stands straight. His smirk is closer to a sneer at this point. 

     “I don’t know what you’re playing at, or what he’s told you. Frankly, I don’t know much about what the hell’s going on. He doesn’t smell right, and you know it. The rest of the imbeciles you insist on surrounding yourself with haven’t noticed yet. They don’t have the born wolf’s ability to smell intent. To smell  _ stains _ on the soul. He smells like how he did when the Nogitsune had taken hold of him.” 

     “Where are you going with this, Peter?” Derek asks. He’s tired of the rambling. 

     “I’m not really sure yet.” He sounds thoughtful. Then his voice turns dark. “I just thought that if I figured it out, your little puppies won’t be far behind. Or the Sheriff. You’d better make sure you know what you’re doing, Derek. You have a tendency to chase tail that ends up biting you in the ass.”

_      Too far.  _ Derek slams his hands against the wall on either side of Peter’s head and roars as he rapidly changes into his Beta shape. The glassware on the kitchen tinkles and the sound reverberates off the walls. Peter, despite himself, cowers and immediately bares his neck in submission. Several neighborhood dogs start barking. 

     “You  _ will _ keep away from Stiles. You  _ will _ tell no one of what you know, or what you  _ think  _ you know. You have a place in my pack against my better judgement, because you’re family. Don’t you  _ EVER  _ mistake that for trust. If it was ever to come down between your life or Stiles, I would choose Stiles one thousand times. Don’t forget that.” He pushes off of the wall to give Peter space.  _ “Leave.” _

     Peter tries to maintain his posture as he leaves, but if he had a tail it would be between his legs. When the elevator doors close, Derek sags against the wall and drags a hand over his face. He knew that this couldn’t last forever. The sneaking around, the stolen kisses, and maybe even the murders. He should have known better, not only with a born wolf amongst his ranks, but also the fact that it was Peter. He can’t keep his nose out of anything, and he’s quick to twist any situation to serve him how he sees fit. 

     With a second roar, this one set in frustration, Derek turns around and punches the concrete wall, breaking his hand. The pain grounds him. A sizable chunk of concrete falls to his feet. He presses his forehead against to cool wall, taking deep breaths. 

_      Alpha, Beta, Omega. Alpha, Beta, Omega _ . He chants the mantra in his head. Gradually, his brow softens, ears shorten, fangs shrink, and nails retract. 

     He needs a shower, and he  _ really _ needs to quiet all of the thoughts buzzing around in his head right now. He walks into the loft, closes the door behind himself, and grabs his bottle of wolfsbane liquor on the way to the bathroom. He’s taken three large swigs by the time he’s reached his room, and a lovely tingle is spreading out from his chest and into his limbs. He’s already starting to feel more loose, more relaxed. He gets undressed and carries the bottle with him into the bathroom.      

     - - - 

     By the time he’s stumbled out of the shower, the bottle is more than half gone. He’s taken probably the longest shower known to man, standing in there until the water ran cold. He’s managed to ignore most of his thoughts, focusing instead on the duality of the liquor, both burning and pleasing. He wrestles with the towel to dry himself, and starts giggling at the absurdity of the situation. Then he starts crying. He drops the towel and leans against the bathroom wall and slides down it, sitting on the bath rug. 

     He fucked up. He fucked  _ everything _ up. He needs to call Stiles, like,  _ now. _

     He takes another large drag off the bottle and pushes himself up, relying heavily on the bathroom sink for support. The room is spinning and he trips several times on his way over to the bed. He grabs his phone off of the side table. It takes a few tries, but he finally manages to call Stiles. 

     “Hello? Derek?” Scott’s sleepy, confused voice comes through the phone. 

     “You’re not Stiles.” He says, and hangs up the phone. He must have hit the wrong name. He tries again.

     “Derek?” Stiles voice is thick with sleep. “Wassup?”

     “Stiles! Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. Why’s your name feel so  _ funny _ when my tongue makes it?”

     “Derek? Are you okay?”

     “I… I fucked up. M’a bad alpha. A bad boyfriend. M’sorry. Peter’s gonna to take you away from me. I can’t let him  _ do _ that.” Derek is sobbing. When did that start?

     “What?” He can hear the creak of Stiles’ bed as he sits up. “Derek, what’s going on? You sound funny.”

     “ _ You  _ sound funny.” Derek giggles. “Heeey, hey, hey. We killed tha’ guy tonight. Whadif, like, he’s still alive when we fucked? Whadif he din’t die and now he’s telling everyone? That would be  _ so _ rude.” His words are slurred and he’s not completely in control of his mouth. It’s hard to talk, and when he runs his tongue over his top teeth, he feels that one single canine has elongated into a fang. He whines. “Aw man, I have a snaggle tooth. Everyone is going to laugh at me.”

     “Derek. Are you  _ drunk _ ?” Stiles asks incredulously. 

     “I’m twen’y-three an’ a half years old, officer. I can drink if I wan’o.” 

     “I’m coming over.” He can hear Stiles putting clothes on. “Just… just stay where you are. You’re at home, right? Don’t move, and for fucks sake, don’t drink anymore.” 

     Derek confirms that he is indeed at home, Stiles hangs up after saying he’ll be there in ten. Derek stares stupidly at his phone for two minutes, and then looks at the bottle in his hand. There’s probably a fifth of alcohol left, might as well finish it. He downs the last of the bottle, and it doesn’t go down as easy as it first did. The wolfsbane is slowly eating away at him, making him feel sluggish. It would take two or three of these bottles to kill him though, so even in his drunken haze, he knows he’ll be fine. 

     He must pass out, because Stiles is suddenly in front of him, shaking him by his shoulders. 

     “... wake up. Derek, come back to me.” 

     Derek smacks his lips loudly and his eyes focus on Stiles. 

     “Honey! You’re home!” He gushed, reaching with a heavy hand to caress his cheek. “How was work, Sugar Bear?”

     Stiles looks beyond delighted. “Dude, you are  _ completely _ blitzed. I’m so totally never letting you forget that you called me Sugar Bear.” He grabs an arm and tugs him. “Come on, up you go. Let’s get your naked ass in bed so you can sleep it off.” 

     It’s a task to stand, but once he’s up, he throws his weight at Stiles, and they both fall onto bed. He lands on top of Stiles, who lets out an  _ oof  _ on impact. 

     “Lemme make you feel good, Stiles.” His fingers don’t seem to want to cooperate, and he’s  _ trying  _ to twist his fingers in Stiles hair, but all they do is twitch feebly by his head. He humps Stiles leg and licks a messy strip up the side of his face. 

     “Yeah, something tells me that’s not going to happen tonight, buddy.” Stiles grunts out. He has his hands on Derek’s hips, and is trying to push him off. Derek growls and huddles in closer to his body, burying his face in Stiles’ neck. 

     “You’re kinda crushing me, man,” Stiles says below him with a slight wheeze. 

     That’s when they hear someone coming up the stairs. Derek would have heard them long before then, if he hadn’t drank the whole damn bottle, but his head is fuzzy and his senses aren’t working straight. 

     “Derek, is everything oka- OH MY GOD!” Scott rounds the corner into the bedroom and just as quickly turns right back around. Then he whirls around again. “Wait, What the fuck are you doing to Stiles!?” Scott marches up to the bed and grabs Derek’s arm. He tries to yank Derek off, but Derek just shoves him backwards without even looking. He burrows his face deeper into Stiles neck and issuing a possessive growl that rumbles from deep inside his chest. 

     “Nothing is happening!” Stiles says, his voice going up at the end of the sentence.  He lets go of Derek’s hips and lifts his hands in the air. “Derek called me, drunk, I was just trying to help him into bed. He fell. We fell. It was a fall.” He works his hands under Derek’s chest and shoves hard, bucking his hips at the same time. Derek rolls off of Stiles and onto the other side of the bed with a pathetic whine. 

     “Oh my god,” Scott says again, shielding his eyes. 

     “S’just a penis, Scott. er’one has one.” Derek slurs. “Well, girls don’t. Girls have boobs.”

     “Dude, did he  _ bite  _ you?” He hears Scott asking in horror, and Derek looks over to see Scott prodding Stiles’ fresh bruise. Derek growls again. Stiles slaps his hand away. 

     “Don’t touch the merchandise.” He snaps. “Scott, I need to tell you that I’m sorry about yesterday…”

     They walk out the door and stand in the hallway. He tries to focus on their words, but his head is cloudy and he can’t seem to make his hearing work properly. Whatever. Let them keep their secrets. He dozes off again, and after a while feels two sets of hands pull him up to the head of the bed, and a blanket is thrown over him. Scott leaves the room, and Stiles turns to follow him. Derek darts his hand out from under the sheets and grabs his wrist. 

     “Don’ leave me.” He suddenly feels small, like a child. He can’t think of anything worse right now than having to sleep alone. 

     Stiles gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back. I’m just seeing Scott out.”  

     Derek nods with hooded eyes, and lets Stiles go. He hears their muted voices downstairs, and after a minute the front door closes. Stiles makes his way back to the room. He sits down on the edge of the bed, and takes off his shoes and socks.

     “Scoot over, Sourwolf,” He says fondly, and Derek happily obliges. He turns his back to Stiles, and Stiles forms his body against his own. He kisses Derek behind the ear. “Go to sleep, we can talk in the morning.”

     “Okay,” Derek is already drifting. “Lov’u, Stiles.”

     “I love you too, Sourwolf.” 


	10. Chapter 10

     Derek wakes up with a throbbing headache, and he’s nearly falling off the bed. He cracks an eye open to see Stiles, starfished on his belly, with an arm over Derek’s back and a foot jammed underneath his thigh. Derek groans pitifully and squeezes his eyes shut. The light hurts his eyes.

     His groans of despair stir Stiles, who pops up his head with a, “He’s takin’ my banana!”

     Despite his headache, Derek snorts. Then he moans. “ _Stiles_ , don’ make me laugh. It hurts.”

     Stiles blinks a few times, and then turns to look at Derek. “You got drunk last night, _without_ me. This is the reward you reap!” Well isn’t he a bouquet of butterflies in the morning. “How long is it going to take your body to work out the wolfsbane?”

     Derek tries to sit up, and falls off the bed in a tangle of sheets. The same sheets in which Stiles is also tangled in. With a yelp, Stiles follows him and he ends up straddling Derek’s chest. Derek whines pathetically when his head throbs tenfold.

     “Would an injury make things move along?” Stiles asks in a seductive tone from his chest, picking up Derek’s hand and twining his fingers with his.

     Derek, whose brain is working too slow to pick up on the implications, nods while shielding his eyes from the morning sun with his forearm. “Yeah, it would kickstart the healing process to burn the wolfsbane out much more- FUCK!” There’s a loud snapping noise at the same time that agonizing pain shoots up his arm. He bucks Stiles off of him and curls to his side, cradling his arm with its newly broken elbow.

     “You can thank me in front of coffee.” Stiles says next to him. With a pat on Derek’s back, he gets up to go downstairs. Derek just snarls at him. Seriously, what a complete _ass_.

     He waits several minutes for his body’s healing to work it’s magic. It eventually does, and he feels much more level-headed. His brain is still a little foggy, but any residual pain or discomfort is gone. Remembering bits and pieces of last night, he grimaces to himself. Maybe he can just stay in his room and never come back out. He sighs, feeling sorry for himself, puts on some sweats, and heads downstairs.

     Stiles is sitting at the kitchen island with the morning paper. He has his cup of coffee, and it looks like he’s made Derek’s cup too. Derek takes a sip and is pleased to taste that it’s exactly how he likes it. He sits and stares at his cup.

     “I’m not angry, you know.” Stiles says softly. He reaches over and puts a hand over Derek’s. “I just need you to talk to me. What happened after you dropped me off last night? What changed?”

     Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

     “It’s Peter. He was here when I came home last night. Had a lot to say.”

     He can hear Stiles heart rate increase, but he keeps his voice even. “So what exactly _did_ he say?”

     “Basically that he knows about us. He’s known something was off since you melded. Born wolves- our senses are more connected to... spirituality, I guess you could say; to intent. It’s not _exactly_ a scent thing? It’s more of a scent feeling. It’s hard to explain. I’ve lived with it my whole life. It would be like you trying to explain a color to someone who was born blind. Anyways, I was stupid to think that Peter wouldn't act on it. He so fucking self-serving, of _course_ he would try to use this to his advantage, one way or another.”

     “So I just smell different to him? That’s not so bad. He doesn’t really know anything.” Stiles looks relieved.

     “No, Stiles… he went into the tunnels after we left. He could smell _everything._ He knows about us, about Howard. He’s not sure what it means, but he knows enough to be a pain in the ass. The others, they’re bitten. They don’t understand that you smelling like me means we’re intimate. They think it’s a pack thing, because they all marginally smell like me. It’s in a wolf’s nature to carry the scent of their alpha. I think Peter’s known for longer than he’s letting on. He was just able to confirm it last night.”

     “But this doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t mean anything, not really. What’s he going to do with this information? So we’re fucking. Whatever. You’re an adult and I turn eighteen in a month. And the murders? I’d really rather not explain that, but I will if I have to. The others know something is different about me, they just don’t know what. It can easily be explained with us being in a relationship. They won’t know the difference. As for Peter?” A dark look crosses his face, and his jaw twitches. “I’ll kill him before he gets between us.” His heart is completely steady. There's no lie in his words. The truth of it goes straight to Derek’s dick. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath to settle himself.

     “You know what? We’re calling a pack meeting. Text them all, Peter too. We’re telling everyone about us. I’m not going to keep sneaking around, not around pack, at least. We can hold off on telling Dad until I’m officially eighteen, but I’m not ashamed of you. We’re airing this out. Now.”

     Derek is surprised, but at the same time pride swells in his chest. Stiles wants to tell the pack. That’s a big step. He might not realize it, but an Alpha’s significant other has nearly the same power over the pack as the Alpha does. They’ve already been falling into line behind him for weeks without even realizing it.

     He sends out a group text - _Pack meeting at the loft in 1 hour. Non-negotiable._ \- and then looks up at Stiles.

     “I told them one hour. Think I have time to blow you in the shower?”

     Stiles grins. “Anything for you, _Sugar Bear_.”

     Derek shows fang and growls. “I swear to god, Stiles, I will strangle you with my bare hands.”

     “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Sourwolf.” Stiles laughs and his face settles into a wide, dreamy-eyed grin

     “What?” Derek asks, feeling a goofy grin on his own face.

     “Last night, on the phone, you called yourself my boyfriend.”

     Derek blushes and ducks his head. “I didn’t mean to- if you don’t want to label it-”

 _“Dude,_ I want to be your boyfriend, like, _so_ hard.” Derek looks back up and Stiles is beaming. His inner wolf howls at the declaration.

     Homer got it wrong, he thinks to himself. _This_ is the face that could launch a thousand ships. Derek would reduce the planet to cinders for Stiles, and the revelation both terrifies and thrills him. He mentally shakes his head. When the fuck did he get so poetic?

     “Come on, _boyfriend.”_ Stiles says, hopping off his stool. He grabs Derek’s hand and leads him upstairs.     

     - - -

     An hour later, Peter, Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Lydia are gathered in the loft. The bite mark on Stiles neck hasn’t gone unnoticed, and Lydia was even bold enough to ask if his secret girlfriend did it, because they all knew he’d secretly been seeing someone.

     Stiles had choked on his second cup of coffee in a fit of laughter. She raised her eyebrow at him, but hadn’t said anything else on the issue. Scott’s eyes kept darting back and forth between Stiles and Derek, looking utterly confused and unable to connect all the dots he had. Erica was annoyed that she had been rushed through prettying herself up, and Boyd… well, Derek couldn’t always get a good read on Boyd. Isaac was just happy to be included, and Peter lurked in the background. He had the audacity to look smug. Derek wanted to pummel him into the floor.

     They all sat on or around the couch, and Derek was standing in front of them, arms crossed.

     “Well?” Lydia said in her very no-nonsense way. “What have you summoned us for?” There was an edge to her voice. Apparently, She hadn’t been too happy on being rushed either.

     Stiles got up and stood next to Derek in front of them. He crossed his arms, stood with his feet apart, then rolled his neck back and to the side. _Oh boy_.

     “As Lydia has made glaringly obvious, you all know I’m seeing someone.”

     “Your love bite made it glaringly obvious.” She muttered back.

     “Is she here?” Scott interrupts. “Do we get to finally meet her?” He’s perked up like a puppy, looking around as if she's going to walk around a corner at any moment. Peter snorts and Derek bares his teeth at him.

     “Um, yeah, Scott. You do get to meet her. Her is Derek.”

     Several things happened at once. Scott looked confused, Lydia looked thoughtful, Isaac looked surprised, and Derek thinks he hears Erica mutter, “not fair,” to which Boyd rolled his eyes at.

     “But… Derek isn’t a girl.” Scott said stupidly.

     “Yeah, I figured we had established that last night.” Stiles said with a click of his tongue. _Oh god_. Derek could feel his face heating up.

     “Wait a minute.” Lydia says, narrowing her eyes at the three of them. “Did you guys have a _threesome_ last night?”     

     Scott looks horrified. “What?! Oh my god, _no!_ Derek drunk-dialed me, and I found him naked on top of Stiles!”

     Everyone in the room turned to Derek. Yup, if he wasn’t blushing before, he most definitely was now. He just his chin out though, daring anyone to make fun of him.

     “Hey! Back on topic!” Stiles snaps. “First of all, I was fully clothed. Secondly, he fell on me when I was helping him to bed.”

     “That’s what she said.” Isaac mutters.

     “What was that?” Stiles says, voice laced with authority.

     “Nothing.” Isaac says quickly, looking like a deer in headlights.

 _“Anyways,_ we didn’t plan on letting the cat out of the bag until I turned eighteen, but you know life. Never goes as planned. SO!” He claps his hands together and rubs them. “This is happening, it’s going to _keep_ happening, and if _anyone-”_ he draws out the word and gives Peter a pointed look- “has any qualms or anything to say, you can kindly fuck off, because neither of us cares.” He’s smiling, as if his words didn’t strike the group as very rude. “Oh, and also, we’re keeping this on the D-L until next month. Statutory laws, and all.” He stands there, and no one says anything. “Good. So, it’s been fun, see you all at school on Monday. You guys can go now.”

     Everyone starts to leave.

     “Peter. You can stay.” Stiles says as Peter gets up to head out the door. He doesn’t look perturbed at all. In fact, he has a curious look as he sinks down onto the couch. Derek leans against a beam and stares at him while the others file out, and Peter feigns disinterest.

     Scott lags behind the other teens and Derek sees him pull Stiles to the side. Listening in isn’t difficult at all.

     “You’re really okay? With this, with everything?”

     “Yeah, dude. I honestly haven’t felt this happy since he start of senior year. He makes me happy, Scott.”

     “Okay. Well, it shows, man. You have this confidence about you that I’ve picked up on the last month or so… it’s a good look, Stiles. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” Derek can picture his lopsided grin as he hears what he assumes is Scott clasping Stiles on his shoulder. Then the door closes, and Stiles walks back into the living room. With him, comes that predatory scent that Derek has associated with their kills.

     “So I’ve driven my dear nephew to drinking. How unfortunate.” Peter drawls, looking bored. He slings and arm over the back of the couch, exuding confidence. Derek isn’t fooled.

     “Pete, Pete, Pete, what _ever_ are we going to do with you?” Stiles muses. He starts pacing the room in a slow circle. “You’re a part of this pack by Derek’s good graces. Nothing else. You only pop up to help when it’s convenient.” He’s starting to walk behind the couch. Derek can see Peter tense, even though he maintains his pose of his left arm on the back of the couch, and the ankle of his right foot resting on his left knee.

     Stiles leans in to talk quietly by Peter’s ear. “You stir shit up, and frankly, you’re creepy.”

     Peter smirks and goes for nonchalance.

     “I bring family to the table. Derek’s got none left. Well, there’s _Cora_ , but we can hardly count her.” He looks to Derek. “Derek, do you let your bitch do all of your talking for you now? I-”

     Whatever else he was about to say is drowned by his howl of pain. Stiles has plunged his Bowie knife into Peter’s hand and down into the wooden frame of the couch. He must have hidden it behind the couch before the pack had arrived.

     Peter goes to swipe at Stiles with his free hand, fingers tipped with deadly claws. Stiles had anticipated this and has already leapt backwards. The claws miss him by less than an inch. Derek straightens, pushing himself away from the beam and snarls, wolfed-out.

     “Touch him and I’ll slaughter you!” He roars through fangs.

     Peter has shifted too. He rips the knife out of his hand and throws it to the floor. He leaps off of the couch and turns to face Stiles, keeping Derek in his periphery.

     Stiles is standing there, head tilted slightly down and to the side, a dark look on his eyes and a nasty smirk on his face. He has a second, smaller knife that Derek has never seen before, and he’s twirling the blade against the pad of his forefinger.

     “Go ahead, Petey. Try it. See what Derek will do. See what _I_ will do.” Revenge, dominance, and _danger_ roll off him in waves, and it’s so thick that it clogs Derek’s nostrils and blocks out almost any other scent. It’s almost frightening to Derek, who knows that he has nothing to fear. Peter visibly flinches as his nostrils flare, and backs off with a huff.

     “If you two want to go around fucking like rabbits, be my guest.” He snaps, posturing. It’s devoid of confidence. “I’ll be the Alpha rebuilding when your world burns, and you die with it.” With that, he turns to leave.

     They stand in silence, and Derek waits until he hears the elevator head down. Then he rounds on Stiles.

     “That was stupid. He could have killed you.”

     “Please. Even _he’s_ not that stupid. Or brave.” He acts like they just had a civilized conversation. Stiles is going to be the death of him.

      _“_ _Pl _eas_ e _ , Stiles. Just… don’t do something like that again.” Derek doesn’t want to sound needy, but he’s only _just_ realized that he truly loves this man standing in front of him, and he can’t bear lose him.

     Has it really only been a little over twelve hours?

     Stiles seems to sense the urgency of his plea, and places the knife down on couch. He walks over to Derek and grabs his face with both of his hands. He looks into his eyes, and then presses their foreheads together.

     “Yes. Okay. No more shoot-first power moves.” Derek closes his eyes and rubs the tip of his nose on Stiles. God, he really does love him. He’s never acted so intimate, and on the opposite end, so sexually ravenous with anyone. It’s a heady mix that leaves him feeling like this is all one big dream. Maybe he’s the one who should be counting fingers.

     “Come on, Sourwolf. I’ll cook you brunch.”


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! The final chapter. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, comment, or kudo this work. This is the first multi-chapter fic I've published, but there's several more in the works. With that said, enjoy : )

     The day after Stiles’ eighteenth birthday, Derek lets him take the Camaro out for a drive. Stiles lights up when he tosses the keys at him, and that smile alone is worth letting someone touch his car. He spends a good twenty minutes going entirely too fast down the freeway, before he’s pulling over down an access road.

     “What are you doing?” Derek asks with a frown. He doesn’t have to wait long for an answer, because Stiles reaches over and rubs the palm of his hand over Derek’s crotch. Oh, he is so on board. 

     Derek slides his seat as far back as it will go, and Stiles crawls across the middle to straddle him. On his way over, he hits the volume button, and the music blasts. Derek can hardly hear Stiles laugh over the noise. He loves it. 

     Then Stiles is kissing him, grabbing at the side of his face, and twisting his fingers in Derek’s hair. Hungry, needy, ravenous kisses that Derek basks in. He grasps Stile’s hips, and rocks with him.

     Stiles is moaning into his mouth, and the vibration goes straight to Derek’s groin. He’s already painfully hard, and rutting up into his jean zipper isn’t doing it for him. It must not be doing it for Stiles either, because he leans back and starts undoing Derek’s buckle.

     That’s when they hear a sharp  _ Taptaptap  _ on the window. Derek feels the color in his face drain. Sheriff John Stilinski is on the other side of the window, in his full uniform, complete with aviators. In one hand he’s holding the nightstick he used to tap against the window. His other hand is resting - and Derek uses the term loosely, because his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping it - on his sidearm. His mouth is in a tight line and his face is red.

_      Out. NOW,  _ he mouths over the blaring music. Derek gulps, and Stiles reaches over to turn the music off. The silence is deafening.

     “Here we go.” Stiles mutters. He rolls off of Derek back into the driver’s seat, and Derek immediately places a hand over his crotch. He steals a glance, and sees John’s jaw ticking. 

     Stiles adjusts himself in his jeans, and gets out of the car. “Heeeey, Dad. What are you doing, out here? Where I also am?”

     “Someone called in that they saw a black Camaro pull into an access road. I was close enough to check myself. Thought  _ Derek here _ -” he motions for Derek to get his ass out of the car- “might have needed a hand. Now I see he already had two.”

     Derek steps out of the car. Why is this human so completely terrifying to him? Because he is.  _ Absolutely _ terrified. His wolf does nothing to help the situation, and instead cowers in a corner of his mind, pushing thoughts of  _ you deal with it.  _ He closes the door and stands awkwardly, hands still clasped in front of his crotch.

     “Sheriff.” He says with a sharp nod.

     Stiles has rounded the car and is standing next to Derek.

     “Derek.” John crosses his arms and stares at the two of them.

     “I'm eighteen, Dad. I can date whoever I want. I was going to tell you, it just kind of hasn’t come up yet?” Stiles attempts and air of conviction, but his statements all sound like questions, and his voice is wavering. Derek could really use some Void Stiles energy right now.

     “You turned eighteen yesterday, Stiles. You really expect me to believe that whatever this is  _ just _ started yesterday?”

     Derek cuts right to the chase. He raises his chin and stands tall. “I love your son, Mr. Stilinski.”

     John’s eyebrows shoot up. His mouth opens slightly and takes a breath, like he's going to say something, but nothing comes out. His mouth snaps closed. 

     Derek takes it as his cue to continue. “This isn’t some fling for me, and I’m not with him just because I can be. I  _ need _ to be. I love him, and I’m not going to stop loving him. I’ll be with him as long as he’ll have me.” He reaches out (his dick has finally switched gears), grabs Stiles’ hand, and looks at him. Stiles is wearing much the same look that John is wearing. Derek gives him a half-grin, and squeezes his hand.

     “What he said.” Stiles says, turning to his dad with a dopiest grin on his face.

     John doesn't look completely sold, but Derek can see the fight go out of him. He sags slightly. He takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose.

     “You never do anything halfway, do you kiddo?” John asks Stiles, sighing.

     “He’s good for me, Dad. He’s helped me in ways that no one else could. Do you remember, about a month after the Nogitsune? You didn't say anything, but I  _ know _ you noticed. I wasn't getting worse, but I wasn't getting better, either. Derek pulled me out of that.” His voice gets small. “I was in a bad place. He saved me, Dad. Saved me from myself.”

     John reaches forward and pulls Stiles into a hug. Derek lets go of Stiles’ hand so he can reciprocate. “I did notice, Stiles. You’ve been doing so much better these last two months. Different, not quite the Stiles I know, but so much better than you were. You’ve grown, son. Grown into a man I’m proud of.” 

     They stand like that for several long seconds, and Derek feels like he’s intruding on something very private. John kisses the top of his son’s head, pats his back, and lets him go. Stiles steps back to Derek, and grabs his hand again. John watches their fingers intertwine, and then looks up to Derek’s eyes. Derek immediately stands taller. He really wants John to like him. 

     “Well, if this is going to be a serious thing, I’ll expect you over for dinner on Sunday. Maybe you can convince Stiles to cook something with meat in it.” 

     John turns around before getting into his car, “oh, and Derek? It’s only proper to know the full name of the person you're dating.”

     “DAD!  _ NO!” _ Stiles objects.

     He gets into his car and starts to drive by them. Stiles relaxes. Then his dad stops by them, rolls down the window, and says, “Mieczysław Genim Stilinski.” with a huge grin on his face. Derek tried to hide a grin, and Stiles looks flabbergasted. 

     “You aren’t my dad anymore!” Stiles yells after the car as he drives off. 

     Derek lets out a laugh, and then stops when he sees Stiles face, eyes narrowed at him. Then he bursts into laughter again. 

     “You’ll tell  _ no one.” _ Stiles says, jabbing a finger at him. “I swear, Derek. I’ll keep you in my basement as a sex slave and you’ll never see the light again!”

     “Don’t tempt me. That sounds like a sentence I’d be more than willing to live out.” He pulls Stiles in close and kisses him. There’s none of the fire from a few minutes ago, but it’s just as good. 

     “So I guess we’re officially official now, right? We can go to the movies, be seen holding hands, all that Jazz?” Stiles asks. 

     “Sounds like it,” Derek says, rubbing the tip of his nose against Stiles’. 

     “Cool. Because I kind of planned a road trip for us. After I graduate next week.”

     “Oh really?” Derek asks, surprised. “And who exactly is paying for this trip?”

     “You, of course.” Stiles says happily. “Come on, you bought the entire building that the loft is in. I know you’re loaded.” Derek doesn’t argue. “Anyways, someone is abducting brown-haired, blue-eyed, women from campuses in Minnesota. Eight so far. The eighth one, he returned to her house. Dead. And then there was one that was left in a field, impaled on deer antlers.” Stiles sounds thoughtful. 

     “Ooookay.” Not where he thought this was going. “So we’re going on a murder road trip?”

     “Yeah! And it’ll be a twofer, because that last murder is most definitely a copycat. We’re going to nab them both.” Stiles clutches at the air with a fist. He looks so excited, And his energy is infectious. 

     “Okay, cool. Lets go.” Derek says with a smile. He’s so completely smitten, it’s not even funny. He pecks Stiles on the nose and goes to get back in the car, on the drivers side this time. “Come on, Mieczysław. I’m taking you out for dinner.”

     Stiles squawks at the use of his name. “Derek, I will  _ murder  _ you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, feel free to head on over to my Facebook page and say hi 😊 It’s such a great way to further interact with all of you wonderful people ❤️💕
> 
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